
RnnTf ■ E/&T^ 



CQEXRIGHT DEPOi 



sS »(►/ <" 




EZEKIEL LEAVITT 



/ 



PARROT GODS 

A BOOK OF ESSAYS AND SKETCHES 



BY 
EZEKIEL LEAVITT 

A.utlior o£ "Songs of Grief and GlaJness, "Oreamland , etc. 



with an appreciation of leavitt by 
Nathan Haskell Dole •■ 



BOSTON 

THE TALMUD SOCIETY 

PUBLISHERS 



^^ 



V 



t" 






COPYRIGHT, 1921 BY / 

EZEKIEL LEAVITT / 



|\PR-l 1922 ^ 






ERRATA 


Page 


Line 


9 


2 


25 


5 


79 


2 


111 


21 


151 IC 


1-11 


151 


21 


173 


1 


179 


23 


179 


26 


198 


14 


219 


5 


251 


29 


273 


4 


281 


18 


288 


19 


289 


22 


297 13 


-14 


297 


31 


298 


15 


301 


9 


307 


16 


343 


1 



for Appreciaton, read Appreciation. 

for writer, read writers. 

for Bibical, read Biblical. 

for content, read contents. 

are superfluous. 

after "full," add the word all. 

for lassical, read classical. 

for Fredinand, read Ferdinand. 

for a flatter, read to flatter. 

for softly, read softly. 

for forgot, read forget. 

for expressng, read expressing. 

for val, reaAvae. 

for degraned, read degraded. 

for equivalant, read equivalent. 

for exhilerating, read exhilarating. 

for Petersgrad, read Petrograd. 

for all together, read altogether. 

for Heidelburg, read Heidelberg. 

for Petersgrad, read Petrograd. 

for Jereboam, read Jeroboam. 

for often times, read oftentimes. 



'wa O^ 



PARROT GODS 



CONTENTS 

Prefatory note 7 

I. 

Ezekiel Leavitt — Nathan Haskell Dole 9 

Parrot Gods 13 

Gutenberg's Pro and Con 19 

Do you not desire to have enemies? 23 

What's to be Written? 27 

Gossip and Slander 31 

Guilty of Pessimism 35 

The Modern "Almighty" 39 

What Men Fight For 43 

What is Boston Jewry doing for the Jewish 

Working Girls? 47 

Monkeys 53 

The Net Result of my Life 57 

Our Modern Slaves 65 

A Nation's Fundamental Needs 69 

Our National Language 77 

American Judaism 81 

▼ 



CONTENTS 

Education and Psychology 85 

Educational Values 93 

The Jewish Stage 103 

The "Realism" of the Jewish Stage 107 

Russian Jews and the Tsar Ill 

Leo Tolstoi 115 

Daniel Mordovzef 123 

The Great Russian Apostle of Optiniisrti 129 

Ambition 133 

Mendele Mocher Sforim 139 

Let us turn back 143 

Marriage 147 

Day of Atonement 151 

Luck and Sense 154 

II. 

The "Pleasures" of the Tsar 157 

"Professor" Getzel 165 

Hearts and Stomachs 178 

Between Love and Duty 183 

The Parting of the Ways 200 

Who is Happy? 205 

Is there any Sense in Love? 209 

vi 



4 

CONTENTS 



Who Lost More? 215 

When Will the Messiah Come 219 

The Wonderful Lights 22.5 

Herschel the "Benefactor" 231 

The Saint and the Sinner 237 

If the Benches Could Talk 241 

Interviews Beyond the Grave 247 

Russia in Ten Years 253 

Tsar Nicholas and I 257 

A Trip to Coney Island 263 

Reporter Oxenkop 269 

The Seder Service 275 

"Pieces of Life" I.— VI 279 

Types and Pictures I. — III 287 

Thumb-Nail Sketches I.— X 293 

Some Character Sketches I. — V 311 

The Philanthropist 323 

Israel and Ivan 327 

Thoughts 335 



VI 1 



PREFATORY NOTE 

The motive that induces me to make this publica- 
tion, is to preserve in a permanent form some of the 
thoughts that have, from time to time, occupied my 
own mind, and attracted the favorable attention of 
the critics and of the public. 

All of the articles and sketches collected here were 
published before in various periodicals, and now, 
putting them together in a volume, I have merely- 
made in them some unimportant changes. 

E. L. 



EZEKIEL LEAVITT 

(An Apprectaion) 
By Natlian Haslcell Dole 

EZEKIEL LEAVITT is a genuine poet. He has 
the poet's insight, the poet's skill in catching 
the salient characteristics of any episode that appeals 
to his imagination, and in omitting the unnecessary 
details that only confuse and distort the reality as he 
wishes the reader to see it. 

He is a Hebrew, and he knows his people as they 
really are, not only in his native Russia, but also in 
this land of their transplantation. He has witnessed 
the distressing circumstances by which they were 
oppressively surrounded in a country where unjust 
laws restrained their activities and their abilities, and 
where they were now and again persecuted by jeal- 
ous neighbors with the connivance of bureaucratic 
authorities ; he has studied them also in circumstan- 
ces scarcely less distressing in this land of their 
adoption, in cities where they live in crowded ten- 
ements, a nation in a nation, often persecuted by an 
unjust and prejudiced public opinion, with small 
opportunity to break away from an adverse environ- 
ment. 

He is sufficiently clear-eyed to recognize the results 
of such an environment, to see how it tends to ac- 
centuate the faults of any people exposed to such 
conditions, to drive in upon the center, as it were, the 
self-consciousness, and bring out the more unlovely 
traits which would soon disappear if fairer chances 

9 



EZEKIEL LEAVITT 

of development were afforded. The terrific struggle 
for a mere living, the rivalry in grasping after the 
crumbs that fall from the rich man's table, the im- 
morality almost unavoidable when thousands are 
herded together in unsanitary quarters with no hope 
of escape, the ever-present sense of injustice and of 
being misunderstood bound up with the national 
consciousness of being worthy of better things, of 
having the charge of a splendid inheritance, of being 
the Chosen People, with a history unbroken through 
millenniums. 

Mr. Leavitt depicts this tragic side with a master 
brush. With what ^eep feelings he shows us the 
poignant despair ol -he young Jewish maiden, who 
has been betrayed by one of her own people, a youth 
whose selfishness has made him callous to all sense 
ol honor — the inevitable suicide when the last gleam 
of hope disappears from her innocent heart. What 
pathos he discovers in the fate of the '^Maskil," or 
learned man, who, owing to circumstances, is obliged 
to leave Russia and emigrate to this Land of Promise, 
only to find himself obliged to earn his living by 
stitching garments in a stifling sweat-shop I Or 
again how skilfully he depicts the sorrow of the 
Orthodox Hebrew who on arriving in America 
where his children have prospered, perceives that 
they have given up all their old customs and have 
adopted the strange ways of the Gentiles ! With 
what keen humor he shows up the tricks of the 
charlatan, who pretends to be trained in the law or 
gospel but bases his success only on his audacity ! 

Like most Russian writers he selects characteristic 
"types" and his portrait gallery is hung with clearly 
sketched examples of these that swarm the Bowery. 

10 



EZEKIEL LEAVITT 

His young men love to argue and they are intense in 
their views. He shows the effect of "culture" on 
the young girl who by insisting on having a piano 
and playing on it at all times drives away her prac- 
tical suitor. He frequently indulges in reminiscen- 
ces of his youth in Russia and there again he paints 
vivid portraits of the Rabbis and the teachers, pic- 
tures of old-fashioned Hebrew homes, of episodes 
illustrating the great gulf fixed between the Ghetto 
and the quarter where live the native Slavs. He 
hints at the terrible pogroms, the outrageous perse- 
cutions which have rendered the lives of so many 
Jews in Russia wretched beyond words ; but he in- 
dulges in no detailed and heart-breaking descriptions 
of such scenes. He has a different purpose ; it is not 
only to describe the Jew as he is in Kief or in some 
little wretched Russian town or as transplanted into 
the new soil of America, and honestly, fearlessly, 
depicting his faults as well as his virtues, but it is 
also to teach a lesson. He has no patience with the 
Jew who would change his name so as to give the 
show of not being a Jew, who is ashamed of his race, 
of his religion, of his origin, who is blind to the 
splendid history, the noble accomplishments of his 
people and who cares only for achieving material 
success. He has a keen weapon with which to 
strike down the quack, the pretender, the coward. 
He can kindle a fierce flame of indignation against 
the wooden-headed official ; he attacks the Tsar (now 
so fortunately deposed) as the representative of all 
that is cruel and wrong in Russia ; he has no fear of 
consequences. But his fighting is all above-board 
and directed against real evils. That gives him a 
tremendous moral power and a prophetic zeal which 

11 



EZEKIEL LEAVITT 

cannot fail to have a beneficent influence upon those 
of his own people who surely read his sketches, his 
dramas, his poems, his Jeremiads (if that is a proper 
word to apply to his sarcasms) with keen interest. 

They are also revealing to those who harbor preju- 
dices against the Jews; his frankness in criticism 
makes all the more effective his delineation of the 
lovable qualities of many of the characters whom 
he portrays ; the staunchness of his patriotism, his 
defence of the language which many of the Jews 
would fain see die out, his quaint and original com- 
parisons, his occasional descriptions of Nature writ- 
ten with a genuine lyrical inspiration, even his touches 
of cynicism, have a quality which makes them ap- 
pealing. 

He gives the impression throughout, but especially 
in the more didactic articles in which he so wisely 
and sensibly discusses education and the theatre of 
being intensely in earnest. Intensity is a marked 
characteristic of all that he says, of all that he puta 
into the lips of his dramatis personae. Withal he 
writes fluently and easily. He knows exactly what 
he wants to say and he says it bravely, directly, often 
with a gleam of humor, more often with a flashing 
stroke of satire, but always with the impress of 
truth. 

One knows instinctively that he hates compromise. 
He will not yield to any possible currying of favor, 
to any weak bidding for popularity. He will express 
his own ideas though the heavens fall. 

His work, therefore, is extremely interesting and 
deserves careful reading, for it is a revelation of a 
great people by a great man, a rare Poet. 



12 



PARROT GODS 

MANY years ago, when I was still in my teens, I 
read in the history of antiquity, where facts are 
interwoven with fairy tales and beautiful 
legends with nonsensical myths, a little story which 
became — if I may be allowed to use such an expres- 
sion — as though tatooed on my memory. 

And very often, as I observe and hear all that goes 
on around me, I repeat to myself Ecclesiastes' wise 
words: **The thing that hath been, it is that which 
shall be; and that which is done is that which shall 
be done ; and there is no new thing under the sun." 

The story I read is a short and simple one. The 
third Roman Emperor, Caligula, who was a brute 
and a despot of a high degree, and who desired that 
the entire Roman nation should be concentrated into 
one large head, in order that he should be able to 
cut it off at once, awoke one morning with a very 
queer desire: every one of his subjects should 
recognize him as a god. 

It is understood that all made fun of this mad 
dwarf, who dared to think of putting his microscopic 
head into the infinite heights, into the splendor of 
God. 

But the impudent Caligula was not deterred from 
his idee fixee. 

And what do you think he did? He bought a 
great number of parrots, locked them up in his house 
and repeatedly drilled them on the words : "Caligula 
is a god! Caligula is a god!" 

And as soon as the parrots had learned the two 

13 



PARROT GODS 

phrases, he released them and took in other parrots 

to whom he taught the same "lesson." 

And when he freed the parrots, he instructed his 

servants not to let them remain in one place, but to 

scatter them in different directions. 

The servants fulfilled the orders of their master, 

and the parrots, while driven, rent the air with shrill 

sounds : "Caligula is a gou ! Caligula is a god !" 

The foolish Caligula imagined that the parrots 

would deify him and make the whole empire believe 

in his divinity. 

But history, the impartial tribunal, which weighs 

men and deeds on true scales, not only did not recog- 
nize Caligula as a god, but even denied him the name 

of man, crowning him with the title beast, barbarian, 

egotist. 

If, however, the Roman Emperor was not success- 
ful in his attempt through parrots to secure for him- 
self divine fame, he opened the way for many people 
of his calibre who desire to be respected, honored 
and deified by mankind without rendering any ser- 
vices to it. 

One, for instance, writes dramas which are far 
from art as many so-called American "professors" 
and "reverends" are far from elementary knowledge. 
But the drama-maker thinks, of course, that his pro- 
ductions are real gems, and he is the god of the stage, 
and when he hears an adverse opinion of his plays 
from many competent critics, he sends out two- 
legged parrots, whom he instructs to repeat wherever 
they go: "N. is the god of the stage!" 

And these human parrots run around like poisoned 
mice and carry out their employer's message. 

Another writes rhymes, which contain as much 

14 



PARROT GODS 

poetry as the Russian Tsar's heart — compassion. 
The versifier has, however, quite a different opinion 
of his art, and through parrot-messengers he declares 
to the world that he is the god of Parnassus and the 
sole possessor of Heine's or of Keat's muse. 

One, not having the ability to produce something 
of his own, clothes himself in the guise of a critic 
and with unusual arrogance, with points of order and 
with points out of order, he tries to blacken the glory 
of others and to deprive them of their wreath of 
laurel. 

And when he is told by those who understand that 
it would be more proper for him to peddle bananas 
than to write "literary opinions," he engages some 
sort of two-legged parrots to advertise him and to 
proclaim him as a second George Brandes. 

In short, in the literary as well as in the profession- 
al and business world we very often notice Caligula's 
plan. 

Lately many people have begun to employ parrots 
for two-fold purposes — to praise themselves and to 
abuse others. 

For instance, some rich New York Jews, who live 
up town, employed a multitude of parrots and com- 
manded them to repeat: "The up-town Jews are 
honest merchants, great philanthropists, unique 
scholars, and the like while the down-town Jews are 
cheats, ignoramuses, immoral creatures, and im- 
posters." 

And the teachers as well as the up-town Jews ran 
from one end of the city to the other and shouted 
and squeaked the words of their "teachers." 

And the teachers as well as their parrots, whose 
task is repetition, have eyes and see not or cover 

15 



PARROT GODS 

them with golden eye-glasses in order not to see how 
hard the down-town Jews work to earn their daily- 
bread ; they, our "great" ones, do not want to confess 
that oftentimes more honest, legitimate business is 
done in Hester street than in Wall street. They do 
not want to admit that quite often we can find in dark 
basements and on narrow top floors men who are 
much more intelligent, more honest, and more 
idealistic than they, and have warmer hearts 
than theirs. They do not want to comprehend that 
the down-town Jews give comparatively more for 
charity than they, for it is harder for the down-town 
Jew to spend one dollar for charity than for the up- 
town Jew to spend hundreds of dollars ; and still the 
down-town Jew gives his hard-earned dollar mere 
zealously and more contentedly and with less ado 
than the rich up-town Jew gives his donations. 

The up-town Jews got the idea, and through the 
medium of their parrots wanted to induce the world 
to believe, that they are altogether unlike us poor 
Russian-Polish immigrants. They demand that we 
should deify them, that we should kneel before them ; 
they desire that we should stifle our individuality, our 
tears, our sighs, our feelings, and our aspirations and 
dance to their pipe. 

The up-town Jews want to make us believe by 
means of their parrots that to them belongs the first 
place in American Jewry, because they live in beau- 
tiful mansions on Fifth avenue, while the Russian- 
Polish Jews live somewhere in Broome or in Cherry 
streets. 

They demand, they desire, they command, they 
ask; but who cares? Parrots cannot deify them! as 

16 



PARROT GODS 

Caligula's parrots could not deify him, and his name 
remained in history as a laughing-stock, as a moral 
lesson to modem Caligulas, who want honors which 
are not due them. 



17 



GUTENBERG'S PRO AND CON 

What Gutenberg would be able to say now if he arose 
from his grave. 

HERMIT-like I have held myself aloof from aP 
the pleasures with which the world is teeming. 
In the day-time, when the wheel of life turned 
around me, seeking to drag me into its course, just 
as it does millions of other people, who run, hustle, 
and labor hard to earn money — or what is still worse 
— to spent same on luxuries, on useless and worthless 
objects, I sat in my room deeply absorbed in my 
thougths. 

Even in the summer, when on the tired, dreamy 
mother earth which had been heated all day by the 
rays of the sun, a blue and charming night came 
gradually down accompanied by a zephyr and by 
millions of stars, which were wont to wink at me 
and to seek to lure me from the house to enjoy the 
perfume of the roses, I was sitting alone in my room 
thinking and planning. 

And the result of my thinking and planning was 
that I succeeded in bestowing on mankind a great 
gift, the invention of printing. 

I do not wish to deny the truth : there were 
moments in my life when a proud feeling took pos- 
session of my heart and then I looked on myself as 
on a Prometheus, who brought to the world a divine 
fire. 

I believed that my invention would make it possi- 
ble for men to publish books preaching friendship 
and love, brotherhood and equality, sincerity and 



PARROT GODS 

goodness; I had hoped that through my invention 
the world would progress and become better and 
nobler. 

And now? Almighty Father, what use has man- 
kind made of my gift ! 

For brutal and shameless purposes have men used 
it : for objects which are a disgrace, an effrontery and 
an offense to the whole civilized world. Crowned 
heads and rulers, who conceived the idea that they 
had a right to enslave people and compel them to 
obey orders are using my invention to print laws 
which make a distinction between race and race, be- 
tween nation and nation and even between indi- 
viduals. They have made use of my invention and 
are still using it to publish circulars and commands, 
to send people to the prisons, to Siberia, and to the 
gallows. 

My invention, which should have been the greatest 
factor toward peace, progress, etc., is used by men 
with black souls for mean, horrible and terrible pur- 
poses : to preach hatred and revenge, chauvinism and 
war, religious fanaticism and foolish traditions. 

My invention, which helped to sow in the hearts 
of men the good and healthy seed of the Bible, and 
made it possible for the world to possess the literary 
treasures of Shakespeare and Goethe, the charming 
songs of Heine and of Keats, the volcano-melodies of 
Byron and of Shelley, the philosophical-theological 
views of Plato and Maimonides, the pantheistic- 
philosophical theories of Spinoza and his followers, 
is also utilized to print books, brochur**s, and articles 
which are positively worthless. 

I had hoped that my invention would help to unite 
people and to refine their taste, but I now realize that 

20 



PARROT GODS 

this was merely a sweet dream, for not only has it 
enabled persons to combat with one another with 
their pens far more effectively than with their 
swords, but it has placed the opportunity before 
them to poison souls, and spoil tastes and morals. 

Through my invention men assail one another and 
issue false statements regarding one another's life 
and work; on account of it many innocent people 
suffer unjustly. 

Had I been a prophet and foreseen to what use 
people would put my invention, my heart would have 
been its grave. 

What? What did I say? Oh, I am talking like 
an old fool ! My invention has brought to the world 
so much usefulness and joy, happiness and inspira- 
tion, gladness and consolation, that I do not want 
to think about its bad side. King's mandates, bad 
books, tasteless brochures, abusive articles will all, 
sooner or later, disappear, and no one will mention 
them ; but the good and useful things created by 
means of my invention will last forever, and always 
teach the world what to do and how to do things in 
order to be good and noble. Oh, nay, I am not sorry 
for my deed! And when my time will come to die 
again and return to my eternal resting-place, I shall 
lie there in peace. 

And when from time to time over my grave will 
trill a lonely bird, I shall then wish to believe that in 
it is the soul of a great lyric poet, whose sweet mel- 
odies became known to the world through my inven- 
tion, and who thanks me now, through this winged 
messenger, for the great boon I have conferred upon 
him. 

21 



PARROT GODS 

And the bird will trill over my grave more and 
more sweetly, and I shall lie calmly in my grave and 
dream charming and divine dreams. 



22 



DO YOU NOT DESIRE TO HAVE ENEMIES? 

DO you desire to have sincere and true friends? 
If so, be satisfied with having only a few. If, 
however, you care for people who are only quasi- 
friends i. e., friends and enemies at the same time, 
then the best thing is not to seek them, for such so- 
called "friends" are like la grippe, unexpectedly they 
come and so they disappear. 

If, on the other hand, you do not wish to have 
enemies, not even one, I shall give you some practi- 
cal advice, which is at least as good a remedy as a 
"standard patent medicine": become, if you please, 
deaf and dumb! Deafness itself will not prevent you 
from having enemies. If you are only slightly deaf 
you give the impression (pardon me for telling you 
the truth) that you are absolutely deaf and cannot 
hear when a poor man asks alms of you, or seeks any 
other favor, which is not in accordance with your 
desire. 

But when somebody whispers in your ear a slander 
or a bit of gossip, then, oh, then, you will at once 
hear, no matter how deaf you are. Gossip and 
slander have such luck — even the deaf hear them and 
the blind see them, yes, see them, although it is an 
impossibility to see abstract things. And when some 
one will bring you in the name of others, some gossip 
or slander concerning your person or the members 
of your family, you will surely talk against the 
others, and when your words reach them they will 
become your enemies. And in order to avoid such 
enmity you must become dumb. 

23 



PARROT GODS 

If, however, for certain reasons, you cannot afford 
such a "luxury," then for Heaven's sake and for your 
own sake, do not become a writer! 

Try to get rid of this feeling, if it comes to you; 
extinguish the divine fire, subdue the afflatus, the 
inspiration, when it burns in your heart; cut off the 
fingers of both your hands and, besides, pull out also 
the tongue from your mouth so that you may not be 
able to dictate your thoughts to others. 

If you follow my advice you will not have enemies. 

If you cannot resist the temptation to become a 
writer, I shall recommend to you another remedy 
which will protect you from having enemies. This 
remedy I must admit is not a very honest one, and is 
of a very compromising character, but what is not 
done in our days for the sake of bread and butter? 
Do we not see mean and contemptible compromises at 
each and every step? And not merely in the busi- 
ness world, where compromises are a necessity; or 
in the political camp alone, where compromises are a 
daily occurrence, but even in the literary world, in 
the scientific world, in the world, where sincerity and 
honesty, principles and intellect ought to reig^, oh, 
even there the evil spirit of compromise reigns su- 
preme, and its victims are numberless. 

The remedy which I am going to recommend to 
you is a very simple one: Do not write what you 
wish, but what others desire, or in other words, look, 
listen and — silence! If you see, for instance, that 
some literary maniacs are inclined to climb to 
the heights of Parnassus and to bring down from its 
summit a mixture of bad rhymes and decadciicy, do 
not dare say that it is not good, but on the contrary 
make a statement that up-to date poets should write 

24 



PARROT GODS 

in this manner. Even in Russia, which is less pro- 
gressive than other countries, the old poets, like 
Pushkin, Lermontof, and others are "out of style" and 
their place is taken by the symbolistic — metaphysic — 
mystic writer like Sologub, Artzibashef, Brusof and 
similar "giants" in the world of letters. 

If you see that a certain shoemaker gives up his 
profession and divides his time between cutting corns 
and spoiling paper with his "literary" outpourings, 
you should not say to him : "Schuster, bleib bei 
deinem Leisten! Get out of the literary field and stop 
bluffing!" But flatter him, praise him and tell him 
that he deserves a professorship at Yale, or even at 
Harvard. 

If you see that many "critics" are exhibiting their 
egotism and ignorance, their "chutzpa" and foolish- 
ness in each line of their writings, send them letters 
of congratulations, telling them that you consider 
their literary work as good as Brandes' and Belin- 
sky's ; for if you tell them the real truth about their 
screeds they will become your enemies and they will 
try to annihilate you and your work. If you see that 
some people call themselves leaders and mislead a 
great number of their fellowmen, do not criticize 
them and do not awaken enmity in their hearts 
against you. Oh, the enmity of so-called leaders 
is terrible! 

In short, if you are a writer, utilize the advice of a 
"wise" Russian Judge, before whom one com- 
plained of another that the latter called him a fool. 

"How do you dare to insult your fellowman?" 
asked the judge of the man against whom the com- 
plaint was brought. 

25 



PARROT GODS 

"I called him a fool because he is a fool," replied 
the latter. 

"He may be a fool, but you have no right to say 



so." 



"What then?f' he asked. 

*You may think it in your heart, for to think and 
not express your thoughts is allowable even in Rus- 
sia." 

"All right!" he replied to the judge's remark, 
"from now on I shall not call a fool "fool," but I 
shall only think (to think is permissible?) that the 
Russian judges are great idiots." 

Yes, if fortunately or unfortunately you are writ- 
ers, do not criticise or dare to express an opinion 
not in unison with the common opinion, do not see 
faults in leaders and in all the "machers" for the 
"welfare" of the community; do not dare to show 
the public the real value of many so-called writers' 
"gems" and of so called public benefactors' deeds. 
Look, listen, and — not a word! This is not exactly 
honesty, but it is very good policy. 

Think what you want, but do not express your 
thoughts. You will then be surrounded with friends 
and well wishers, and you will have no enemies. 
Behave yourselves, writers, and you will feel good, 
in this world, and, perhaps, in the future world also. 



WHAT IS TO BE WRITTEN? 

I HAVE promised to write something. "Promises 
make one a debtor," say the accurate Germans. 
And I am obliged to write, even though some- 
thing dreadful is to ensue. 

But what to write, that is the question. 

Boerne says that great, novel thoughts are gained 
but in solitude, and (since a fellow when in distress, 
will seize upon a straw,) I have concluded to obey 
Boerne. I had no other option, of course. 

I sat lonely in my room, where strange silence 
reigned, as in a cemetery or in a Reform temple dur- 
ing the mass — such silence that one could very dis- 
tinctly hear every tick of the clock. 

The firmament resembling a vellum — woven 
through with many harmoniously-colored threads 
and golden borders, — gazed through the window with 
an ironical smile, like a potent capitalist looking 
down upon a poor author, and methinks it whispered 
unto me secretly in the language of heaven, 

"Dreamer! wan dreamer! Leave thy constricted, 
narrow cell. The atmosphere is filled with perfume, 
it is delicious out-of-doors. And thou are sitting 
here lonely with thy pen in hand. For what pur- 
pose, pray? Thou hast promised to write? Well, 
what of this?. . . nowadays as much value may be 
attached to an assurance as to the careful sermons 
of the Reform Rabbis, as to the honeyed promises 
of a "politician" before election, and as to the warm 
vows of lovers. What does such an assurance now- 
adays represent? Merely naught. I combated the 

2T 



PARROT GODS 

evil spirit which attempted to transport me to 
Lucifer's domain. As I sat my meditations were 
fixed as to what to write. 

Maybe of the weather? No, it is of no use. 

The weather problem is quite in place for good 
society, where after all, the discussion-material, viz: 
gossiping, gastronomical conundrums, Mrs. Grundy's 
tales, and similar matter have been exhausted, and 
there being no other material at hand, let the weather 
interest the Romeoes and Juliets, not me — no ! 

Perhaps I may chance to write love-letters and 
praise Eros. No. Such "transactions" should con- 
cern "boarders," old maids, toothless men, aged 
epileptics, and idlers in general. 

But as for me? I beg to be excused. 

May I resort to poetry, perhaps ? No. Now is no 
time to write poetry; our poets have so saddened 
Apollo through their poems, that he captured the 
Muse and carried her to the inaccessible Himalayas 
(Horei Choshech), in order to save her from the 
rhyme-jugglers and literature-spoilers, who have 
sullied her snow-white complexion, her alabaster ap- 
pearance. Aside from this, there is such an abund- 
ance of poems nowadays, that these could well serve 
as building-material of a paper bridge, to extend 
over the Sambathian, through which, in turn, the 
Territorialists and other "ists" could be safely trans- 
ported to the "red natives" dwelling on the other 
shore of the falls. 

Perchance review would constitute sutiable 
material for writing? 

Omnipotent Lord! The literary market is well- 
nigh full of manure, as the Augean Stables, which 

28 



PARROT GODS 

only a Hercules could clean, not I. How can I clean 
the literary market of all the guano that has been 
deposited by the literary hens for years and years? 
Even though I could write one hundred verses a day, 
would that be of any avail? No ! and a thousand 
times no! Our literary roosters have been transfigur- 
ed in their own active imagination into "nightingales/' 
into "minstrels" in the grace of our "Lord," and what 
good will unreality do them? My morals will exert 
as much influence upon them as the moral sermon 
of the Alliance Israelite has moved the Tsar of 
Russia. 

Perhaps I may hope to write about the "benefact- 
ors" who squander thousands of dollars on sports 
and proclaim from the house-tops that they make 
us fortunate with their alms, which they throw at 
us from time to time? No, not about them will 1 
wiite for it is a known fact that our "Kalvarier 
Deutschen" never read our papers. It is entirely out 
of place for Shmuel, the son of Haikel from Hotza- 
plotz, who has in the meanwhile Americanized 
himself into Charles Dudley, and who is the proud 
owner of a real estate office on Broadway, to read 
Jewish books and journals. 

Shall I describe the many "bosses" who enslave 
their toilers, who extract the marrow of their bones, 
aye, their very blood? 

No, about this I shall not write, for no sooner do 
I picture " the shop," "the boss" and the "slavery 
of our civilized age," in my mind's eye, than my 
vision becomes indistinct from a streaming overflow 
of tears, and writing then becomes a physical impos- 
sibility. 

29 



PARROT GODS 

Perhaps I am to write of our brothers and sisters 
residing abroad, in Russia, Rumania, and other coun- 
tries in which they are suffering the bondage of exile 
in a measure more than they can bear. 

No, of this I cannot write. My heart beats strong- 
er than ever, my mind is confused. 

Well, what shall I write about? May there be as 
much thought about "the Tsar, the little father," 
Trepof and other "beauties." 

Oh, how great, how very hard a task to be honest 
nowadays, how difficult to come up to a promise. 



SO 



GOSSIP AND SLANDER— A STUDY 

"It is a busy, talking world." — Rowe. 

*'The way to check slander is to despise it." — A. 

Dumas. 

AMONG the abominable customs, of which hu- 
manity should be ashamed; among the cardi- 
nal faults, which blacken the world of respectability 
and justice, gossip and slander can take the first place 
because they are a shame for progress, a dwarfing 
of civilization, and a danger, a terrible danger to 
society. 

"Slander is more accumulative than a snow-ball," 
justly remarked a writer. It is like a salad, which 
every one will season to his own taste, or to the taste 
of those to whom he offers it ; or like the kite of 
a child, to which additional exaggerations are at- 
tached, each light in itself, but together forming a 
counterbalancing weight, without which the airy 
trifle would fall again to the earth, when, with eager 
speed, he runs to make it soar aloft. 

Gossip and slander are not the product of our time : 
they are as old as the world, and began to exist and 
be current as soon as man came into the world. 

Once, however, they were the occupation of idlers, 
of do-nothings, of the lowest elements of society, of 
those who did not wish or had not the opportunity 
to develop their characters, their natural gifts, their 
instincts. 

These people, not having the opportunity to as- 
cend the ladder of learning and knowledge; not hav- 

81 



PARROT GODS 

ing any sound and useful material for their spiritual 
food, for their — let us say — "intellectual stomachs," 
— have become accustomed, in order to use up their 
idle time, to busy themselves with easy things, like 
gossip, slander, and obloquy. Besides, these gossip- 
ers and slanderers had many customers among the 
women, among the "fair sex" who have many, very 
many, ugly ways. ... 

For them it was not merely a pastime, but a real 
pleasure. They derive much enjoyment from 
"stories," which Jane told of Mary Ann, or Mary 
Ann told of Bridget, and so forth. 

But "Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis," 
says a latin proverb. Now gossip and slander are 
not monoplized merely by the two above named cat- 
egories; now they are very much in style by al- 
most all. 

Why? This question can have two answers. 
First, some do it because they are morally sick, that 
is : their minds are not strong enough to conquer the 
animal inclinations and instincts which drive men to 
do evil deeds ; secondly, many do it to quiet their vul- 
gar egoism, their manifold stormy *V, their desire to 
run after honors, after popularity, after recognition." 

So what do they do, these pigmies, these spiritual 
dwarfs, when the sea of envy of their stronger and 
more worthy fellowmen begins to boil in their little 
hearts? They begin then to use the most shameful 
and most poisonous weapon — gossip and slander. 

Men are not angels. Living on the earth, we must 
nolens-volens have earthly faults. The sun has 
spots; the rose thorns; gold is mixed with baser 
metals; — is it then a wonder, that a mortal man, no 

32 



PARROT GODS 

matter how good he is, or how pure his thoughts, 
should have faults ? And of these faults the gossipers 
and slanderers begin to make use and of every 
iault which they find in the successful poet, author 
or speaker, they make a "scarecrow," using thereby 
all their base means to paint them in blackest col- 
ors. . . . 

Heine says, "The greater the man, the easier the 
arrow of scorn reaches him. It is harder to reach the 
dwarfs." How true these words ! Little men who 
have no personality, and are not distinguished by 
any special characteristics, are not attacked, and 
they will not be talked of even if they have the 
greatest faults. If, however, a well-known person, 
a man with a name, do the least wrong, people will 
not stop speaking of him, and none will refrain 
from throwing mud at him with his own dirty hands. 

Yes, great is the crime of every person who takes 
part in gossip and slander; but a thousand times 
greater is the crime of those who call themselves 
"scholars" and "authors" when they occupy them- 
selves with such vulgar "business." They ought to 
set an example of good customs and good man- 
ners, because if they do this, people have more re- 
spect for literature, knowledge, and art. If we try 
to slander others, we shall not make ourselves great- 
er, and the mud which we throw to soil others will 
first of all soil us. 



33 



GUITLY OF PESSIMISM 

^'My soul is bare of faith and all, except 
despair." — Zangwill. 

MY esteemed critics, well-wishers and friends, es- 
pecially of the frail fair sex, are accusing me, 
and without giving me a hearing, find me guil- 
ty of pessimism. They claim that the Omnipotent 
breathed into me atoms of Schopenahuer,*s spirit. 
They call it a fault of mine, but I — let me be candid — 
look upon the matter from an entirely different point 
of view, for were I not a pessimist — so at ieast it ap- 
pears to me — I should consider myself a vain being, 
devoid of all noble feelings. 

I am a pessimist, for there is a vital heart within 
my breast that beats ever strong for my fellow- 
beings. It is not that I find full contentment in being 
a pessimist; on the contrary, there is constantly go- 
ing on a struggle between my heart and my reason 
for optimism. 

But the very circumstances that brought about 
the production of the pessimistic adages of the Ko- 
heleth, and the deep and powerful offsprings of 
Byron's and Shelly's charming Muse, can keep the 
clockwork of pessimism going in every human soul, 
provided it is not petrified. 

I have left the rushing metropolis of the Empire 
State, the center of "hurry up" life and sports, and 
have chosen a panoramic little town, near New 
York, as my place of abode. From the veranda of 
my cottage I view the attractions above and beneath. 
The day is dying, the sun has set, and only the traces 

35 



PARROT GODS 

of its lost brilliancy play on the horizon. A mixture 
of light and darkness has prevailed for a few mo- 
ments. The hour of meditation is now on — twilight. 

Night approaches. The disc of the pale moon 
stealthily peeps into my chamber and spreads rays 
of light upon the walls, tables, chairs, bookcases, and 
upon all that surrounds me. The tall green trees 
embrace me with their twigs, as if to extend a cor- 
dial welcome. The petals of the roses and lilies, pen- 
etrated with the moist, refreshing dew-drops, shed 
their perfume, and a fragrant odor reaches me. 

I am in solitude, observing the transparent heaven 
above and the green meadows beneath me. I love 
Nature with every throb of my heart and with the 
deepest feelings of my soul. I am hers with all my 
dreams and aspirations, and I sorrowfully regret 
that opportunity is not granted to me to be closer 
to Nature and rest in her lap more often. 

The greater part of my life I spent in the heart 
of the Ghetto, in small rooms, distant from wood and 
field, far from birds and trees, away from flowers 
and plants. 

I belong to the dreamers of the Ghetto, and in 
the Ghetto my life is wasted. 

I am a pessimist, for wherever I look I find rot- 
tenness to the core and hypocrisy, dissimulation and 
the kinks of a Don Quixote. 

There is no sincere friendship in the land of the 
free and the home of the brave, there is lack of ideal 
feelings in this golden country; you cannot find here 
undivided attention pure and simple; the almighty 
dollar is found in connection with all that is holy 
and virtuous. 

36 



PARROT GODS 

Even the literary field is to a greater extent filled 
with dollar-getting stunts, with yellow sensations 
for the sake of filthy lucre. 

Every one whose knowledge exceeds not that of 
a school-boy has nerve to call himself a man of let- 
ters, scholar, critic and journalist; every one that is 
possessed of the ability to match rhymes of "toma- 
toes" with "potatoes" has gumption enough to style 
himself a poet, a minstrel by grace of the Lord. 

Others, being little familiar with the elementary 
reading in Hebrew, confer upon themselves the de- 
gree of "Reverend" and some of those who know the 
titles of a few volumes of the Talmud, are vain 
enough to refer to themselves as "Rabbis.'* Those, 
again, that are capable of grasping the reins, become 
by their own accord leaders and masters of Israel, and 
they lead our nation into swamps, into mud. 

Yes, I am a pessimist ! Despair fills my heart, 
when I see all the "decent" affairs in our midst. I 
am a pessimist, for it is not in my power to clear the 
dreary heaven of my nation, and to mend her defi- 
ciencies on the earth. 

I am a pessimist, indeed! 



37 



THE MODERN "ALMIGHTY." 

F^OUR men were discussing the question : "What 
is the greatest power in the world?" 

One, a big, fat man, a merchant, remarked that 
gold is more powerful than everything else because 
gold reigns supreme. 

"He who has the coin," he went on, "has the say, 
and can have anything he desires, anything he longs 
for." 

"And my belief is," replied the second one, "that 
the sword is the mightiest power, for it decides the 
greatest problems and the fiercest quarrels between 
the nations, and all of them obey its command." 

"And my humble opinion is," said the third, "that 
love is the strongest power, because it conquers the 
most renowned hero as well as the most powerful 
king. Remember,^' he exclaimed enthusiastically, 
"the names of Delilah, Cleopatra, Judith, and of a 
million other women of our day, who captured with 
a glance of their eyes the strongest 'fortification — 
hearts,' which would not have been taken with the 
biggest cannons." 

"Yes, yes!" the fourth exclaimed in a loud voice, 
"money is in our day a great power, the sword is 
also mighty, love is no doubt an enormous and un- 
limited power, which forces the giant to creep like 
a worm and the man of strongest character to act as 
an obedient slave; but, friends, all these are naught 
when we compare them with the might of the pen. 
It is small, indeed, but how powerful, how mighty 
it is! It frightens the most brutal kings in their 

39 



PARROT GODS 

palaces; it oftentimes compels the terrible tyrants, 
whose hearts are petrified, to give up things which 
are dear to them; it makes laws for the whole civil- 
ized world, and all men are compelled sooner or 
later to accept them.'* 

The man whose head has not only the mission to 
wear a hat, i. e., the man who thinks and can observe 
things and analyze them well, will surely agree with 
the opinion of the fourth debater, for his opinion is 
the right one. We can confirm it by examples from 
the annals of history, as well as from everyday hap- 
penings. 

And because the pen possesses such a great power, 
the people who were able to make use of this power, 
were in past years very careful with it. 

Unfortunately, "tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur 
in illis," and the changes are not always for the 
better. 

The pen has lost in our day many features of its 
great mission; the desk is no more *'God*s table,'* 
as one of the great Hebrew poets named it; the sin- 
cerity, the convincing power, the justice and honesty 
which were formerly the good angels accompanying 
the writers on their thorny literary paths, are gradu- 
ally diminishing and vanishing. Not only the daily 
press, but very often the weekly and monthly journ- 
als are yellow, very yellow. "What need is there," 
many of the so-called "writers" think, "of sincerity, 
knowledge, talent, etc., when freshness and stupidity, 
shamelessness and self-pride are now desirable prod- 
ucts in our literary market? What need of logic, 
when absurdity serves the purpose? What need of 
talent when empty phrases are acceptable?" 

40 



PARROT GODS 

And literature, the most beautiful jewel, the most 
valued pearl in mankind's treasury, has become now 
a kind of shop, where people sit and traffic with 
ideals, and where we can get principles and opinions 
"two for five." We therefore now find in the literary 
field so many pygmies, whose real place ought to be 
in a circus. In the modern literary field we find 
"critics" who would be better experts in groceries 
than in literary subjects. Chaos reigns all around in 
our contemporary literature; dwarfs occupy the first 
place in it, and the talented and learned writers are 
very often behind the camp. 

Literature, which is the greatest factor in the life 
of civilized men, the pen, which has so great a power, 
should be in the hands of gifted writers, who are 
sincere and earnest. And those "literary" charlatans, 
to whom literature is only a "milking cow," those 
pen jugglers, whose souls are kneaded from mud 
and whose consciences are "clear" (as dirt) 
— they should refrain from their "literary" activities 
and choose some other occupation more suitable for 
their talents and inclinations. 

There is enough need for street cleaners and push- 
cart peddlers to provide these charlatans with a liv- 
ing, and we would wish them the best of luck in such 
new and more fitting spheres of activity. 



41 



WHAT MEN FIGHT FOR 

"For a cap and bells, our lives we pay; 

Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking: 
'Tis only God that is given away, 

Tis only Heaven may be had for the asking." 

THE great God Mammon sits upon his throne, 
which is wrought of finest gold, studded with 
precious stones. Upon his head rests a golden 
crown, and the many diamonds with which it is set 
flash their many colored fires in amazing brilliancy, 
dazzling the eye of the beholder. Around him stand 
his courtiers, the knights of the almighty dollar, 
dressed like himself in robes of heavy gold, whose 
weight almost drags them down to earth, and each 
one is guardian of a heavy treasure chest, filled, 
some with coins of gold, others with beautifully en- 
graved notes in green and gold, still others with cer- 
tificates of stock (90% of which, by the way, is wa- 
ter), and some with deeds for houses and lands. 

From all directions the people come to worship, 
and to ask for gifts. They come from God's coun- 
try, where the fields are covered with verdant grass 
and flowers, with waving golden grain, with stately 
trees whose sturdy branches droop heavily under 
their weight of fruit; where the sunny sky looks 
down upon the smiling earth, and the birds make 
music all day, and the little brook gurgles in laugh- 
ter as it dashes payfully over its pebbly bed; where 
every morning they can see the wonder and glory of 
creation renewed, as they watch the sun rising over 

43 



PARROT GODS 

the distant hills, the Lord of Day come to dispel the 
darkness of the night. All this they leave, and the 
wholesome labor that makes wholesome rest, and the 
freedom that is unbeholden to others, to worship the 
God of Gold. 

They come from the villages, where life moves 
slowly and peacefully from day to day. They 
come from the towns where already lesser satellites 
of Mammon are enthroned, emulating the rush and 
bustle of the great city. From all the highways and 
byways they come, the stronger trampling over the 
weaker, and only a few, a very, very few of all that 
great army ever reaching to the mighty God Mam- 
mon himself, to receive his largess, and be made one 
of the knights of the "Order of the Almighty Dollar." 
And why this steady influx of people? Why this 
crush and rush? What is this gift that the God 
Mammon dispenses that makes people so eager to re- 
ceive it? Is it something that makes people better? 
Does it make people happier, healthier, give them 
more of the joy of living? Does it enable them to 
see the beauty of the sky, of the green grass, of the 
fragrant flowers, to feel their hearts stir and swell 
within them at the renewal of life every year, after 
the cold and desolation of the winter ? If it does not 
do these things, what does it do that casts a spell of 
desire over all? The answer is, that the gift of the 
God of Gold has in it the power to make men bow 
down and worship its possessor even as they do the 
God Mammon himself. It gives him a power to 
subdue others to his will, to make tools and hirelings 
of those who but for the possession of this gift, are 
higher than he in every respect. It gives him a 

44 



PARROT GODS 

power before which the most despotic king and the 
most democratic government are powerless. Is it 
surprising that one and all are filled with the mad 
desire for this one gift? 

And yet — its possession is certainly not an unmixed 
joy. Riches and power entail obligations, great in 
proportion. What John Smith, possessed of a mod- 
erate income, and unnoticed, may do, would be out 
of the question for John Smith, the possessor of 
millions. Are not his tastes as simple as of yore when 
he could not sign his name to a check of seven fig- 
ures? Still he must keep up a grand establishment. 
This is part of the penalty he must pay for his wealth. 
A thousand and one claims will be made upon him, 
some just, some unjust, until both alike will become 
irksome and remain unnoticed. The friends of his 
earlier days will fall away from him, his grandeur 
over-awes them. His new friends, are they really 
friends indeed, he wonders sometimes, or is it policy 
that links their interest with his? And so, poor rich 
man, like king Midas of fairy fame, although every- 
thing he touches turns to gold, one needs food to eat, 
that is not gold, and human companionship that has 
not been deprived of its feeling by the golden touch. 
And all his life and work has been but for the sake 
of cap and bells, that people may hear and see. 

There is so much in life that mere money cannot 
buy, that everyone can have and pay for in other 
coin, because in one way or another, everything 
must be paid for. Friends, just pay for them in 
friendship's coin, and you will have them. Do you 
want happiness? Make others happy and you will 
find your own. All the beauty of the world is yours 

45 



PARROT GODS 

to enjoy, if you will but look for it, and appreciate 
it. You do not need to go to Italy to find that the 
sky is blue. A glance above you will show you that^ 
if the day be sunny, and if not, the clouds are also 
beautiful, and the sun is always behind them. Are 
not the flowers as fair, and the grass as green, here, 
as elsewhere? There is nothing, I know, that broad- 
ens the mind like travel, and I would be the last to 
decry it, and of course there is an enchantment that 
distance lends, which makes us all eager to be where 
we are not, but that same enchantment will hold good 
when we are away in distant lands, and make our 
own seem more desirable. So, if you have not the 
money to travel, why not admire the beauty with 
which you are surrounded, and think, as the rejected 
suitor did: 

"What care I how fair she be. 
If she be not fair for me." 

Beauty, it is said, is in the eye of the beholder. It 
is incumbent on us, therefore, to have it always in 
our eye, and we cannot fail to see it. 

The world returns to us that which we bring to it. 
Do we bring faith, hope, belief in the goodness of 
mankind? It will be justified. Just as we try to- 
justify the belief of children, so also do we try to 
justify the belief of those, who amid the stress and 
strain of everyday life, amid ugliness and sor- 
row and sin, can see the beauty and the goodness be- 
hind the clouds, if we but look for them. 



46 



WHAT IS BOSTON JEWHY DOING FOR THE 
JEWISH WORKING GIRL? 

THE s^jcjvt question presents itself with esp>eciai 
force at this time, when some of our Jewish 
society women, who are, or rather, pretend to 
be, active in charitable work, have gone so far as to 
cast aspersions on the character and moral of our 
Jewish working girls in genera!, and the immigrant 
girls in particular. 

What have these women done, what are they doing 
now, to help the girl who is forced to go forth and 
earn her living by the labor of her hands? I do 
not refer to the girl who comes from a sheltered 
home, where she has a father's and mother's care; 
to whom, while the necessity for work does present 
itself, the temporary lack of it will not mean the loss 
of necessities or even comforts. 

I refer rather to those who come here from coun- 
tries where the Jews are hounded and persecuted, 
and who look forvsard with eager eyes to happiness 
and liberty, in this, to them, the Promised Land. 

Sometimes they come alone, sometimes with 
friends or parents, but in almost all cases, without 
exception, they come here with very little tangible 
property, their only assets health, youth, and the 
boundless faith of youth. 

What welcome do you g^ve them, you ladies who 
have of your own right formed yourselves into a 
synod to sit in judgment upon them? What helping 
hand do you extend to your sisters that come here 
strangers in a strange land? 

47 



PARROT GODS 

Is there a home to welcome them if they are home- 
less? Is there money to aid them if they are needy, 
until such time as they may be able to find work and 
support themselves? There is a place where the 
immigrant may receive some aid, but is it such a 
place that a young girl could go there to receive 
shelter and help while she needed them? 

There are numerous educational classes in which 
the immigrant girls may be taught the English lan- 
guage, but one cannot take the proper interest in ac- 
quiring an education when the mind is over-worried 
with the problems of mere existence, and the body 
under nourished for lack of proper food. 

Do you help these girls to find the proper employ- 
ment, or do you take a girl who has graduated from 
the "Gymnasia'' and set her the task of finishing 
coats? Of course, beggars cannot be choosers, I ad- 
mit, but surely, if you are so concerned about the 
morals of the immigrant girls, a little real interest, 
the kind you would want other mothers to feel for 
your daughters were they in like position, would go 
very far indeed toward solving the problem. 

Have you ever gone through any of the hardships 
through which they have gone that you condemn 
them so easily ? Have you tried for days, and weeks 
perhaps, to get work, and been unable to find it? 
Have you ever felt the loneliness of a great city, 
where among all the thousands of people hurrying 
by, there was not one familiar face to greet you, in 
all the babble of the city's tongues there was not one 
familiar voice, among the thousands of hands out- 
stretched in welcome to others, not one was extended 
in kindly welcome to you? 

48 



PARROT GODS 

Have you gone hungry in a city of plenty, shiver- 
ing with cold in clothes that were worn and thead- 
bare, while others were clad in velvets and furs, seen 
others enjoying every luxury, while you were denied 
the bare necessities of existence? 

Have you ever come back from a hard day's labor, 
for a mere pittance, to a hall bedroom, which perhaps 
you shared with another girl for the sake of economy, 
made supper for yourself, because the meagerness of 
your salary would not allow you the luxury of board- 
ing, and tired out in mind and body, hurried to night 
school, because one must, willy-nilly, acquire an edu- 
cation? 

Cold, worry, hunger, all these things are hard to 
bear, but the loneliness is the hardest. Have you 
ever been a stranger in a strange land, a young girl 
brought up in a country town perhaps, where you 
knew every man, woman and child, and even the dogs 
would wag their tails in welcome as you passed, and 
have you felt the sense of desolation that grips the 
heart as you realize that in a great city, amongst 
thousands of people you were alone? 

If you have not known these things, if you have 
not felt them, and come through the ordeal with shin- 
ing spirit and untarnished virtue, do you think that 
you have the right to judge others, who, having 
known and felt poverty, hardship, and sorrow; tired, 
and impotent under a burden too heavy for their 
frail strength, at length accept the hand that is 
outstretched to them with offers of a life that is easier 
and brighter? 

Is it not your duty to see that these girls have a 
properly sheltered home, that they have some of the 



PARROT GODS 

amusements and gayety that youth craves, that their 
feet are guarded from the snares and pit-falls, which 
await those who are dissatisfied and unhappy? 

And yet, in spite of everything, of poverty, hard- 
ship, and loneliness, in spite of all assertions to the 
contrary, our working girls are good girls, and no 
matter what the temptation, the proportion of those 
who succumb to the lure of the so-called "easiest 
way" is a very small one. There is a soundness in 
their moral fibre which nothing can destroy, and the 
most corrupting influence upon them is sometimes 
that of the very people who think that they are 
working for their betterment. 

In New York City, there is the Clara de Hirsch 
home, where girls may obtain shelter until they find 
employment, in other cities there are various homes 
or places where the immigrant girl who is homeless 
may find a temporary home, but in Boston, the city 
of culture, the "Athens of America," our Jewish 
mothers have been so busy cultivating their minds, 
and acquitting themselves of the onerous duties which 
they owe to society, such as whist, teas, dinners, 
balls, theatre parties, and a hundred and one other 
matters of equal importance, that they are too busy 
to look after their own daughters, let alone the 
daughters of the working class. 

Are your whist parties more important to you than 
the lives and happiness of your less fortunate sisters ? 
Can you not spare a little time in your happily ap- 
pointed lives to the work of aiding those who need 
your assistance? Of what importance are your vari- 
ous clubs and isms, in comparison with human lives? 

Is not there wealth enough among the Jews of 

50 



PARROT GODS 

greater Boston to support a home for Jewish work- 
ing girls ? I mean a home that will be homelike, and 
not a sort of modified prison affair. With a sympa- 
thetic motherly woman in charge to whom she can 
tell her woes, with the company of other girls to keep 
her interest quickened, with the knowledge that kind 
people are truly interested in her welfare, it would 
be a poor specimen of girlhood indeed who would 
disappoint the expectations of her benefactors, and 
the question, "What is Boston Jewry doing for our 
Jewish Working Girls?" would be entirely super- 
fluous. 



51 



MONKEYS 

(The habit of imitating customs, literary ideas and 
fashions, and how the Jews are the greatest victims 
of this sickness.) 

THE Talmud says that if a non-Jew accepts a 
Jewish law, he will be more particular in ob- 
serving it than the Jew himself ; and how pro- 
found and psychological, how true and wise is this 
remark! A proselyte, that is, a new convert, who 
has accepted a new religion, a new ideal, a new idea, 
will strive with all his power to outdo the old mem- 
bers of the sect or party, to wl.ich he has attached 
himself. For instance, when a Jew becomes a Chris- 
tian, he will go to church more often than a pious 
Christian, because no one would say that the lattei 
is not a Christian, even if he does not attend church, 
while in regard to the former, at first opportunity, 
doubts will be raised whether he became a convert 
through conviction or principle, or only for selfish, 
and oftentimes even mean and detestable purposes. 
When a former Yeshivo-hochUr or melamed's as- 
sistant, who has led little boys to Cheder, and was 
wont thereby to steal their dinner from them, sudden- 
ly becomes a free-thinker, an abuser of religion, a 
Bible-hater, a denier of acts of faith — he will do his 
utmost to show that he is a greater "free-thinker" 
than his older and more experienced comrades ; and 
to convince them he means it in earnest, he will 
(good proof) eat lobsters, although they stick in his 
throat; he will swallow pork, although he loathe it, 



PARROT GODS 

and his Jewish stomach will immediately demand a 
large dose of pills. So, at every step, we constantly 
see that new-comers do everything possible not only 
to be like the "old," but even to outdo them. Our 
nation, whom bitter fate throws hither and thither 
like the wind the ship which has lost its rudder, must 
often, nolens volens, become an imitator of foreign 
customs, foreign traditions, foreign follies. 

The Jews are compelled by conditions in Russia to 
become more or less Russianized; in Germany, Ger- 
manized ; in France, Gallicized ; and in America, Am- 
ericanized; and we notice at once that the Jew — let 
us be candid! — wishes to become more of a Russian, 
German, Gaul or American, than the natives. He 
holds sacred and observes more religiously the cus- 
toms of the new country than the natives themselves. 

No one possessing a little common sense, will dare 
to assert that here, in America, Jews should not be- 
come Americanized. On the contrary, every reason- 
able person will surely say that we ought to Ameri- 
canize ourselves as much as possible, that is, we 
ought to learn the customs of the country, its lan- 
guage, its history ; we ought to implant in our hearts 
a love for the new world, where we can forget our 
old sorrows, and hope for a bright future. But it is 
very stupid, foolish, and even idiotic for many of our 
Jewish immigrants to think that, in order to be Am- 
ericanized, they must deny everything Jewish, every- 
thing that bears the stamp of their nation. It is folly 
for them to be ashamed to read the Jewish paper in 
the car, ashamed to speak Jewish ir« nuMic with their 
own fathers, who are still ignorant of the English 
language. They think that at meetings, even at our 
national ones, it is better taste to sing an American 

54 



PARROT GODS 

song, which is sung only on the Bowery, than a 
Hebrew or a Jewish song. To them the Irish name 
"Jerome" sounds better than the true Hebrew and 
highly poetical name "J^^^salem." They will refuse 
to give money for Jewish purposes and gladly offer 
their last penny for American sports, and many times 
for churches. And why do our Jewish Jeromes and 
McCarthys do this? Why do our Jewish Jeanettes 
and Ellas act so? Why? Because they are like 
monkeys — always imitating others. 

The great world-literature, and especially the 
French, has created very erotic novels and lascivious 
writings, and has dubbed them all with the name 
"Realism." Our "modern" writers and amateurs be- 
came enthusiastic over this "bargain," and carried 
this realistic literary "affair" to such an extreme that 
the French realistic writers themselves might take 
a lesson in realism from them. 

Oh, good God ! How this so-called "realism" has 
spoiled and sullied the Hebrew as well as the Yiddish 
literature. Realistic novels, sketches, ballads, epi- 
grams and fables are day by day given to the public ; 
and what are their contents ? They are as dangerous 
to our soul as horrible bacilli to our body. They are 
as cynical, disgusting and detestable as the well 
known Paul de Cock's nonsense. And what a style! 
What an art of writing! 

Our "modern" writers heard that the French have 
a Verlaine, a Malarme, those representatives of the 
decadent school in modern literature, replete with 
queer inspirations, with half wild outpourings; that 
in the Russian literature there are a few like Balmont, 
Sologub, Beli, Miropolsky and others. Well, how 
could they rest quietly before they brought these 

55 



PARROT GODS 

kinds of literature into our Jewish Ghetto I And our 
literary "gang" went to work and began to imitate 
them. 

Often in the Hebrew as well as in the Yiddish liter- 
ature we meet poems with dots, and dots without 
poems, which it is impossible to understand without 
the help of a commentator, and from which we can 
easily get incurable appendicitis. 

One of our modern diseases is doubtless the fash- 
ion. We can safely say of her : She is in Paris, and 
her net is spread over the whole world. It is under- 
stood that our people, an exiled people, who must 
constantly hold in one hand the "wandering stick" 
and in the other a paper with the inscription, "Have 
Pity," ought to be very little interested in the fash- 
ions. But what do we see? In the New York Ghet- 
to among the poorest class of our people a bride 
must have jewelry and rich dresses. A Jewish Am- 
ericanized girl will often require that her father 
should pawn his "Talis and Tephillin," and even 
himself only to have the opportunity to buy a latest 
style dress, or a golden locket around her neck. 
Many poor, but very pretty girls, who had bloomed 
like living Oriental flowers, and whom bitter fate 
had thrown into the caldron of life, and into shops, 
where they wither and grow old before their time, 
often work overtime and exert their last strength. 
Why ? For what purpose ? Oh ! it is shameful to 
tell! For the sake of another "rag," another ring, 
for the sake of another useless ornament. Why? 
Because many of our Jewish girls and women do not 
want to think what they are doing, and simply imi- 
tate the wealthy like monkeys. 



5^ 



THE NET RESULT OF MY LIFE 

(The monologue of one doing penance who for 
many years had lost himself in a barren world. 
Overheard and written down.) 

I am now 45 years old! I was born in a little vil- 
lage not far from Vilna. How the village looked 
I scarcely remember now; all my recollections of 
it time has effaced. However, two things stand out 
most clearly even now : the woods which surrounded 
our village as with a green girdle, and the "Cheder/* 
The wood was enchanted, wonderful, a kind 
of earthly Eden. In summer time, when a holi- 
day came, and we boys were free from "Cheder," we 
usually spent the whole day there. And how beauti- 
ful then was the green giant, the forest! To us 
children it seemed as if the trees stretched out their 
green arms murmuring in their tree language, a 
hospitable greeting. The summer birds went about 
in the air, and up and down, as if they were bathing 
in the unending world atmosphere. This choir, the 
neighbors of the forest, met us face to face, with such 
greetings as warmed our hearts — warmed and bright- 
ened them so, as if seven suns had settled therein. 

The "Cheder," where my best and dearest hours 
had been spent, I also remember very, very well. It 
is a small room, the whitewashed walls full of stains 
of various colors. The beams are black and covered 
with cobwebs, where spiders undisturbed spin their 
nets for flies. In the middle of the room stands a 
large wooden table, and on each side of it a white 

57 



PARROT GODS 

wooden bench. The "rebbe" sits among us children, 
as a king in his own palace, teaching us the Torah. 

While recalling the "Cheder" all my Hebrew teach- 
ers come back to my mind. "Reb" David, the 
Dull, who had made a contract with angels to throw 
him from heaven candy and cookies for those of his 
pupils who usually studied the A. B. C. industriously, 
and who would energetically call aloud : Komotz 
alef — o, "komotz beth" — bo, etc. The teacher of 
"Chumesh," "Reb" Getzil, the Short, who was hasty 
and hot-tempered, and who dealt out severe punish- 
ment most readily. The teacher of the Talmud, 
"Reb" Sorach of Kapuli, who often with his leather 
strap gave us a "Kapulic hint," that we must not 
trifle with "Beth Shammai" and with "Beth Hillel 
and that the Talmud "Bovoth" are not "bovas 
stories" — superstitious beliefs. 

Until I was sixteen, I had been learning in "Ched- 
er," and after that my father, who was a God-fearing 
man, and who very much wished that I should attain a 
rabbi's rank, sent me to Vilna, to study there in a 
Hebrew college. The baggage that I took along 
consisted of a pair of "Tefilin," three old shirts, a loaf 
of bread, and a few dried up apples. Besides the 
above mentioned articles, I had with me a letter 
which our "rebbi" had given me to the Vilna chief 
of the "Yeshivoh." 

Arriving at Vilna I at once delivered that letter; 
and the chief took me into the Yeshivoh and furnished 
me with "good days" — that is to say daily opportun- 
ities for free board. 

I began to learn diligently ; and with all the fire of 
my young soul I threw myself into the endless lore 

58 



PARROT GODS 

of the Talmud, and I swam in the deepest places like 
an experienced swimmer. Late at night, when 
around me was a deathly quiet — which was only 
broken from time to time by the snoring of my 
school-mates, the "cloisniks," who likewise spent the 
night at the "Bes Hamidrash" — I used to get up from 
my place of rest, the hard bench which served me as 
a bed, and used to fill the *'Bes Hamidrash" air with 
sad Talmudic tunes. 

At night, when the moon was in the heavens, she 
would, as pale as a ghost, look in at me through the 
window; and it used to seem as if she nodded to me 
and spoke to me in her moon language: "Brother, 
lonely brother! Why are you not asleep now? 
Why are you not resting ? The heavens are slumber- 
ing now; the earth is resting, everything around you 
is wrapt in sleep — sh ! you, too, go to sleep ! May 
your hard bench make you forget your old griefs, 
your old sorrows, old pains. Rest, lonely brother! 
Gather strength for the coming days, which are sure 
to bring you new sorrows, fresh cares!" I used «o 
heed the words of the moon ; or made answer with a 
"Rovah said," or with some good interpretation of 
the text. I used to go on studying till dawn, until 
the sexton, and soon after him others, came, and 
preparations for the morning prayers began. 

Thus I had been studying for two years, and my 
name became beloved not only by the chief of the 
Yeshivoh and by the families, where I had my meals 
on different days, but almost all the frequenters of 
the "Bes Hamidrash." All called me by the name of 
"scholar," and some — even "genius.? 

But suddenly there came a complete turn in my 

5P 



PARROT GODS 

life; my peace, my enthusiasm for the Talmud, my 
old hopes — everything, everything was gone, like 
vapor. 

An acquaintance of mine, a student in the "Real 
Shule," had taken me along with him to a meeting, 
where I saw and heard much. That meeting was an 
illegal one, i. e., those who assembled had no permis- 
sion from the police. The meeting, therefore, took 
place in an out-of-the-way corner, far from the much 
frequented street, far from a center, far from people. 

Arriving at the house where the meeting took 
place, I found quite a number of girls and young men. 
Some of them were holding small books; some, 
pieces of wood wrapped in red handkerchiefs, like 
my grandfather's handkerchief, which was always 
imm.ersed in snuff; some were debating, mentioning 
names which until then I had not heard. In short, 
this gathering made a deep impression on me, 
and I became a steady attendant of all kinds of 
secret meetings. I left the "Yeshivoh ;*' my acqain- 
tance, the student of the "Real Shule," had begun to 
teach me Russian — of which I already knew a little 
and to acquaint me with other matters. 

I made great progress, and in the course of a few 
months, I also participated in all debates that oc- 
curred at the "red" gatherings. The chief subjects 
of our debates were : The bad conditions of the Rus- 
sian Muzhik, the terrible treatment which he gets 
from the Plutocracy, from the "Bourgeois." We 
used often to discuss the Bulgarians and Slovian- 
opoles ; even the Hottentots we also mentioned. 
The only nation which was left out of the 
■discussion, ignored in our debates, was the Jewish 

6& 



PARROT GODS 

people — the nation that gave us life, reared us, and 
whose blood flowed in our veins. Then I became a 
propagandist; I used to go about to the most out-of- 
the-way towns and villages, and talk "cosmopolitan- 
ism," "socialism" and other "isms." Of my people 
I had no thought. "Humanity in general" was then 
in my mind. Only the world-tragedy interested me, 
and not the tragedy of my own poor people. 

Twenty years I have worked upon stranger fields 
for stranger people! I have been several times m 
jail ; I have been in cold Siberia, too. Has humanity 
won anything through me? Practically nothing. 
And my nation — I am ashamed to mention my be- 
trayer-like, my mean dealings against her. 

To strange Gods I have bowed; upon strange al- 
tars I have brought my greatest sacrifices ; strange 
soil I have fattened and sated with my blood — and 
my people ? Oh, from them I have become more dis- 
tant, them I have driven from me. 

Why? I have been blind. I have been stupid! 
I had not wanted to think — oh, I had been a stubborn 
cosmopolite — that all civilized members of a nation 
are proud of their nationality, their language, their 
land, their customs and national traditions — I had 
not wanted to think that the more civilized they are, 
the better, the more holy those things seem to them 
And we Jews? We have ridiculed ourselves, ex- 
changing everything that has oaly a bit of connection 
with our people for foreign matters, for international 
follies. 

In Austria there are many nationalists — Ruman- 
ians, Poles, Ruthenians, Bohemians, Slavonians, Bul- 
garians, etc., and each one of them struggles for in- 

61 



PARROT GODS 

dependence, for the national "1" for a national soul. 
The world knows well enough what had been going 
on in the "Reichsrat" when the language question 
had to come up for decision. The Bohemians had 
struggled proudly and courageously, that in the 
official places in Bohemia only Bohemian should be 
spoken. And we, the sons of Abraham, Isaac and 
Jacob? We have lost our national sense, our na- 
tional pride, and with others' mud we have soiled our 
soul, our heart. With enthusiasm, with peculiar fire 
we run in the first ranks of the strangers, who strug- 
gle for interests quite foreign to us, for ideals dis- 
tant, very distant. Like faithful horses, we harness 
ourselves to the international wagon and draw the 
heaviest loads with patience, with self-sacrifice. But 
when it comes to doing something for ourselves, for 
our own people — then words frighten us : "Re- 
gressist," "fanatic," etc. 

But I have now awakened from my lethargic sleep 
in "Olom hatohoo" — and my eyes are opened — I have 
returned to Israel's nation. With her I will suffer, with 
her hope. Her ideals will be mine. Her dream I 
will dream ; her chains I will wear, and her altar shall 
be my temple. 

Humanity is dear to me, but dearer than that to 
me is my own nation. The world tragedy fills my 
heart with sorrow, but the tragedy of my own broth- 
ers and sisters, the peculiarly Jewish tragedy — the 
pain which is deep as the abyss and boundless as the 
heavens — this pain envelops my soul with a veil of 
gloom, mingles gall with my sweetest hopes and em- 
bitters my life. I want to better the conditions of 
all suffering people, of all those oppressed, humbled, 

62 



PARROT GODS 

of all weak and defenseless. But to better the con- 
ditions of my people is my sacred duty; part of my 
life belongs to mankind, but my whole "I," my 
whole life, my whole soul, belongs solely to my Jew- 
ish nation. 

Oh, poor, lonely nation, take my life, take it — ^it is 
yours ! 



03 



OUR "MODERN" SLAVES 

NO Jewish holiday is so full of memories of joys 
and sorrows as Passover. This holiday re- 
minds us that many hundred years ago our Jewish 
nation was enslaved in Egypt, enslaved body and 
soul. 

A whole nation in slavery ! Can there be a greater 
tragedy? Can a greater misfortune befall a nation? 

But the dreary thoughts of our ancestors in slav- 
ery pass away as soon as we can remind ourselves of 
our great Moses. 

How small, how insignificant, appear Washington 
and all other great champions of freedom and inde- 
pendence, when we think of the splendid personality 
of our great teacher and lawgiver. 

Oh, great Moses ! 

We mention him — and a stream of light flows into 
the darkness of our heart, and a soft breeze soothes 
and fans us, like the hand of a devoted mother. 

Great are the merits of a man who is enslaved, and 
seeking some means to free himself, uses his powers 
to free, at the same time, his fellowmen, who are also 
enslaved. But much greater are the deserts of a 
man who can enjoy freedom and knows not the 
taste of slavery, when in his heart begins to glow the 
divine spark of love for those of lower station in 
life, for the weak, for the down trodden — and he 
comes to them and helps them bear their sorrows, and 
seeks means to free these unfortunates. 

And Moses was such a man! 

He had everything his heart could desire in 

65 



PARROT GODS 

Pharaoh's palace. There he could have enjoyed life 
to the full and become in time a Prince in Egypt, a 
ruler, before whom many must kneel, and whose com- 
mands they must obey. But he did not do this ! He 
could not do it! 

The great spirit of freedom, the divine fire of sym- 
pathy and love for the Jews, whose lives were em- 
bittered "in mortar and brick," drove him from the 
palace and did not let him rest, — "and he went out 
unto his brethren." 

He went to them, and "looked on their burdens," 
he saw their hard work, their slavery, their sorrows, 
their tears ; he heard their sighs, their quiet protests, 
their groans, which filled the place where they were 
forced to work; and he began to feel that he had no 
greater duty in life than to free these slaves from the 
hands of their oppressors, from the hands of those 
who can do no good, and know only to hold whips in 
their hands to strike their fellow men. 

A very hard task had our Moses ! The Jews had 
become so accustomed to slavery in Egypt, that they 
had already lost their desire for liberty and indepen- 
dence. It seemed to them that it had to be so as 
long as it was so. 

Moses, however, did not lose his courage and his 
energy. He kept on working until he succeeded in 
freeing his enslaved nation, and gave them the Torah 
— the first and greatest Declaration of Independence. 

Many years the Jews were a free nation, a nation 
on its own territory ; but historical conditions and 
tyrannical rulers drove them from their country, 
robbed them of their freedom, — and our great nation 
again became enslaved. 

66 



PARROT GODS 

New Pharoahs arose, new decrees were made 
against them, and the new slavery became worse 
than the Egyptian. 

At that time the Jews were not developed as now ; 
their intellectual spirit was as yet in embryo, and, 
therefore it was hard for them to understand the 
great misfortune of a nation when it is dependent on 
rulers to whom caprice is dearer than justice, and a 
wild whim more important than love for humanity. 

Now, however, our nation, or rather, the better ele- 
ment of our nation, comprehends how bad it is for 
us to be enslaved bodily, and still more spiritually; 
how unnatural it is to be in such a condition! 

And men, who have in their hearts a spark of 
Moses* great spirit, have consecrated themselves to 
the work, the great work — to free the Jews from 
their enslaved conditions and to assure them again 
a home of their own. 

It would seem that Jews of all classes ought to be 
in the first rank of our champions, and work with 
united strength for our freedom, for our new Exo- 
dus. But, unfortunately, there are among us "mod- 
ern Egyptian Jews," in whom the spirit of real free- 
dom is dead, and the conception of their own slavery 
is obscured, and they repeat as their brethren of 
yore: "We remember the fish," — the fish which we 
caught in foreign water ; or they say, like true slaves : 
"I love my master." 

And these "modern" slaves leave our ranks, mak- 
ing new circles for themselves and preaching there 
their gospels, which are as far from plain common 
sense, as the spirit of Kossuth and Garibaldi is — 

67 



PARROT GODS 

from the infernal spirit of Torquemada and Pobie- 
donostsef. 

They preach their slavery in a new form, they 
preach it in the name of freedom and equality. 

These "modern" slaves do not understand or act 
as they do not understand, that their whole theory 
possesses as much value as the present constitution 
in Russia, or the "kind" promises of Stolypin. . . 

These "modern" slaves wish to remain in exile, and 
build new "Pithoms and Ramases" for their rulers, 
who have given them so much pain and suffering. 

Why? For what purpose? 

The old reply: "I love my master," "We remem- 
ber the fish" ... 

Oh, slaves ! If I only could, I would nail your 
long ears to the stalls, where stand horses, who know 
nothing of freedom. I would bore your ears with a 
thousand awls, that you might hear the cries, the 
groans, and the sighs of your nation, of your own 
sisters and brother, who struggle under the hands of 
their oppressors, and beg us to help them, and to 
free them from their yoke. 

When, however, the "modern Egyptian Jews" 
leave us — the Jews, in whose heart there glows a 
spark of Moses' spirit, ought to unite more closely, 
and work in unison for our forlorn and forsaken 
sisters and brothers, who cannot endure the long exile 
and the hard work of the new Pharoahs .... 

Let the spirit of Moses lead us to the goal of free- 
dom and independence. 



68 



A NATION'S FUNDAMENTAL NEEDS 

DURING the time when the Russians, in a drunk- 
en condition, were committing violence, dur- 
ing the time when the "dear sons(*' of the fool- 
ish Alexander the Third and his "pious" teacher, 
Pobiedonostef, were adding a few more red pages to 
the history of Russia, and Ivan the Terrible — that i: 
during the time when the Mujiks were killing vhe 
persecuted Jews, dishonoring their wives and daugh- 
ters and robbing them of the possessions, gained by 
so many hardships ; during that time one of our 
great, rich brethren was sitting in his magnificent 
residence, eating, drinking and enjoying life. 

He knew that his unhappy nation was in distress, 
its life threatened in the streets of his native city of 
Kief ; he knew, but turned his heart away from this 
terrible event, thinking that money was the rock of 
his help, and that his wealth would prevent the de- 
stroyers from entering his residence. But this rich 
man was mistaken in his calculations. As soon as 
the robbers reached his residence, they smelt with 
canine instinct a Jew in hiding, took a stone and 
threw it at him through a window. 

The stone hit his eldest son's ear. Frightened, his 
son called out bitterly: "Father, what are we? Are 
we mere Jews, and no more?" 

"If such a large crowd testifies to the fact, we of 
necessity must confess it," answered the rich man in 
a low voice, and ended the conversation. 

This little episode, which an old gentleman told 
me, may be an invention born in an imaginative 

69 



PARROT GODS 

mind, but we have to take to heart the moral result- 
ing therefrom, at any time, at any hour, at any 
place. 

How great, alas ! how great is at present the num- 
ber of our sons and daughters, our brothers and sis- 
ters, who do not know, or do not want to know, or 
are ashamed to know that they sprang from Judah's 
loins, till one of the Gentile neighbors, who is 
familiar with the art of phrenology appears on the 
scene and reveals to them the secret in the loudest 
voice. 

I do not wish that our brethren shall conduct 
themselves here, in a free and progressive country, 
^s they conducted themselves in Ishishock and 
Volosin. 

I know the proverb, "When thou goest to a city, 
follow her customs." We must not think that every- 
thing upon which is impressed the seal of antiquity 
is good and just, or that we have no right to banish 
the old from before the new. No, a thousand times 
no ; Old and new, new and old, both of them are 
good, when they only do not oppose our reason and 
our views of the world; but, with all our spiritual 
doings in general, we must let our individual spirit 
and our individual being appear, and this, to our 
greatest sorrow, we do not do ; and our sons and 
daughters, therefore, grow up without knowing our 
nation, and its spirit remains foreign to them. 

Generally every man has a special character, 
special qualities, special views of the world, special 
aspirations, a special inner world, mto which he con- 
fines himself like a turtle in its shell, while the sea 
of his life grows stormy and every wave of it rises 

70 



PARROT GODS 

to swallow him up. In a word, every man must have 
some individuality by which he is distinguished from 
his fellow-beings. And there is in the sum nothing 
but what is in the individual parts, therefore every 
nation, which is a collective sum of separate individ- 
uals, must have special national laws, upon which 
is impressed a special seal. 

But these laws are but of secondary nature. There 
are things which are most fundamental, dearer and 
most valuable to every nation, and if they are in the 
nation, everything is there! 

These fundamental things are three: (a) The coun- 
try, (b) the language, (c) the history. 

Every nation must have a special country, wherein 
it develops and perfects itself materially and spirit- 
ually. 

Materially, it makes efforts to cultivate its soil and 
to bestow upon it abundantly all that it needs for its 
development and cultivation ; it continually grows 
and improves, till it begins to get out of it abundance 
and to enjoy its fruits ; it makes efforts to increase 
the industry of its country and the branches of its 
commerce widen and spread out to different parts of 
the world, and from them other merchandise is im- 
ported, which it exchanges with them, and in that 
manner it satisfies its necessary wants and does not 
suffer materially. 

Every nation living on its own soil and enjoying a 
free life can beautifully develop its spiritual posses- 
sions, its literature, with clear ideas and lofty ideals ; 
while living on its own soil and intellectually not 
governed by others, who, as a rule, try their utmost 
to bestow upon it all their favors and the most of 
their teachings by physical force. It can produce 

71 



PARROT GODS 

the fruit of its original intellect — all that its heart 
feels, and this fruit will bear a national color, a na- 
tional appearance, and in it will be mirrored the pure 
national soul, which strange hands did not fondle or 
make unclean by their touch. 

Every nation must have an individual national lan- 
guage, understood by all the members of the nation, 
which should be the medium among them in every 
place. We must learn many foreign tongues, but we 
have no right to forget that they are all "foreign." 
We must, before all, know our own language, the 
language of our prophets and poets, which are in- 
herited from past generations. 

When one living in France, and understanding only 
the national language, happens to meet in a hotel a 
native of Russia and understanding only his own 
language, how can they talk to each other if they do 
not understand Hebrew, that is, if they have no corr^- 
mon language adopted by the nation and the same 
expressions? Will those brethren not seem to be 
like pieces not sewed together? They will look at 
each other, open their mouths, stammer — fear, laugh, 
finding no delight in each other. 

Every nation must have its own history. History 
is a long chain, the beginning of which is interwov- 
en with the end, and in that manner it binds the past 
to the future and shows us everything as through a 
bright mirror; and the old experienced past can and 
ought to be the teacher to the future, this tender, 
new-born child that sees nothing. 

Goethe says : "The greatest thing we derive from 
history is enthusiasm." And if history in general 
carries us away with enthusiasm, how much greater 
will the enthusiasm be with which the knowledge of 

72 



PARROT GODS 

our own history will fill our souls? 

"Only through history" says Schopenhauer, "a 
nation begins to know itself, and the nation that does 
not know its history resembles animals which see 
only the events before their eyes in the present." 

The following episode will confirm the truth of this 
great pessimist's assertion : A short time ago I was 
invited to the house of a friend who emigrated from 
"blessed Russia" and is already ashamed of his 
Judaism. On my arrival at the house I found there 
several guests, who came to congratulate his daugh- 
ter on her birthday. 

After partaking of an elaborate repast, the invited 
guests, males, and especially females, began, as usual 
ori such occasions, to show us their wisdom and 
knowledge in every branch of science and art. One 
made Shakespeare tremble in his resting place, the 
other Byron. One miss called out with a plaintive 
voice that she loved, with all the warmth of her 
heart, Shelly's poems, and her friend remarked that 
her favorites among all of them were Longfellow's 
poems. "Well, Mr. Leavitt, you are an enthusiastic 
nationalist," said the hostess suddenly turning to me. 
"Tell us, is there in 'your' literature even one poet, 
who can be likened to these poets in *our' literature?" 

"Certainly there is," I replied. "But, for the pres- 
ent, I will mention only one who is, in my estimation, 
greater than all the poets who lived after him, in our 
nation, or in any other nation." 

"Who is he?" called the hostess in a fine voice, and 
many guests directed their eyes on me. "Rabbi 
Jehuda Halevi !" I proudly answered. 

"Who?" they called out together— "who ? R-r-b-i 
— Shame ! Shame ! Rabbi, whose name we even 

73 



PARROT GODS 

have never heard, greater than Shakespeare! Ha, 
ha, ha!" 

"I have to laugh at you, young ladies," I remarked, 
"because you laugh without knowing why. Heine 
says : 'Many think they know the Jews because they 
see their beards.' You also, young ladies, see only 
the beard of the Jews, and you take the liberty of 
judging the Jews by it. Shame on you!" 

For the time being we have no country, but our 
great brethren make efforts to return it to us, and to 
make us live there. Let us hope that our grand and 
sublime ideal will materialize and come into realiza- 
tion, and our eyes shall again see the land wherein 
lived our forefathers, our prophets and poets ; let us 
hope that we shall yet live a political life in Israel's 
land, wherein stood Israel's cradle, and its bright 
and beautiful sky will spread over our head as a can- 
opy of blue and make us forget the clouds of the 
Diaspora and the shadows of the past. Let us hope, 
let us wait, and with all our power and might let us 
aid the Esras and Nehemiahs of our generation till 
the time of grace shall come and we shall return to 
Zion with songs. 

But if for the present we have not the possibility 
in our hands of freeing our country^ let us try to 
teach our sons and daughters our language and our 
history. 

We must not listen to the "Alcimuses and Jasons'^ 
among us, who want to see the Hebrew language 
dead, for which, according to their conception, there 
is no need. Let us try to fulfil rather the injunction 
of our Talmudical sages : "As the child begins to 
talk, the father talks to it the holy language; and if 
he does not talk to it the Hebrew language and does 

74 



PARROT GODS 

not teach it the law, it is as if he buried it." Let us 
teach our sons and daughters our wonderful history, 
wherein there are no mythological stories and fables 
about gods and goddesses, who assembled on the 
^'mountain," behaving themselves like fools. 

If we know our history, we shall recognize and 
appreciate our unhappy nation, the wandering 
''Ahasuerus," who always preferred the spirit to the 
matter. Let us make the young generation love our 
old culture and all our spiritual possessions. 

It may be that our culture has become somewhat 
old, but there is strength in our hands to cure it, and 
straighten it, and return youth to her old age. 

The French physician, Brown-Sequard, the great 
savant in pathology and physiology, invented a won- 
derful essence, possessing the quality of renewing 
youth. 

Let the other, the new cultures, which are full of 
juvenile vigor, be like that essence to our culture; it 
will then be strengthened and youth and age will be 
therein. We shall then honor, appreciate and love 
the old age and bless and find delight in the youth. 



75 



OUR NATIONAL LANGUAGE 

"There is no tracing the connection of ancient na- 
tions but by languages, therefore I am always sorry 
when any language is lost, for languages are the 
pedigree of nations" — Johnson. 

THE fate of our Hebrew language is very much 
like the fate of our nation ; most of the 
time our nation is criticized by people 
who know her not, comprehend her not and 
respect her not, or if a little respect is 
granted by them, it is usually admixed with 
conventional prejudices. The same applies to our 
national language. Incompetent men clothe them- 
selves in the gowns of judges and pass their verdict 
upon it. A few of those who occupy chairs at uni- 
versities, as professors of Semitic languages (though 
their knowledge of Hebrew is as extensive as the 
knowledge of a Russian muzhik (peasant) of the 
"Schulchan Aruch"), endeavor to impress upon the 
world, or rather their Christian students, whom they 
teach the Semitic A. B. C's, that the Hebrew lan- 
guage is nowadays merely an archaeological subject, 
an antiquity, a spiritual pyramid of past centuries, an 
artistic obelisk, a mausoleum which has remained as a 
remembrance on the grave in which our liberty, na- 
tional independence, pride and might and individual 
specific qualities were buried. For these professors 
it is quite convenient to express such opinion of the 
Hebrew language, for to them it is really dead. 

The reform rabbis, these "spiritual Shepherds,*' 
who are ashamed of the ancient Hebrew traditions, 

77 



PARROT GODS 

the Jewish ideals and of all that pertains to our past, 
have preached to their sheep "that Hebrew is but a 
language of prayers and litanies, a language which a 
human being has to employ only when he directs his 
eyes to heaven and speaks to the Almighty." 

The Yiddish writers, again, aroused an agitation 
to the effect that Hebrew should disappear from the 
front rank and give place to the Jargon, which they 
wish to designate "our national language." 

The admirers of Hebrew have, of course, defied 
this agitation, and a battle ensued. 

Both parties defend their respective positions. 
They furnish flimsy evidences, sophistical pilpulim, 
and hocus pocus stories, and, as usual with our liter- 
ateurs, they do not handle each other with kid gloves, 
and insults are not scarce. . . .The Yiddish writers 
waxed so hot in the "battle" that they, being in a 
mood of anger, turned the epithet Maskil into a term 
of abuse, entirely forgetting that this epithet ought to 
be dear and sacred to every one who is acquainted 
with the history of the development of our Maskilim. 
For to gain the degree of Maskil, many had to strug- 
gle with parents who were against modern thought, 
and to neglect even wife and children. The title 
Maskil has been obtained by many through a great 
number of sleepless nights, endless troubles and ter- 
rible misery ; to receive the epithet Maskil one had to 
study, think and work, and it is a great injustice on 
the part of the Jargonists to profane this term of 
honor. 

A number of the Jargonists above alluded to speak 
like authorities, who advance theories, axioms, that 
I. The modern Hebrew has no aesthetic taste; 
H. The Hebrew language is dead, and 

78 



PARROT GODS 

III. The present Hebrew writers attempt to Jar- 
gonize the Bibical language. 

In reference to the "lack of taste/T should like to 
remark that one is competent to express opinion on 
taste only when one attentively studies and fully com- 
prehends the subject. 

As to the dead part of the language and the tend- 
ency of Jargonizing it, I must say that dead lan- 
guages (e. g., Latin and Greek) atrophy and show 
no impulse, no new vital force. But a language that 
evolutionizes and undergoes changes, which cor- 
respond with the spirit of the time, cannot be spoken 
of as dead'. Those who know but little of the evolu- 
tion theory, even those who are familiar only with the 
popular works of Darwin, Spencer and Baer, can 
easily conclude that a language, like any other ele- 
ment, has changed and must undergo changes and 
be governed by laws or rather, as Aristotle states : 
"Alter a face for a new face,f' for this indicates vital- 
ity and evolution. 

The Hebrew language is growing to a more potent 
vitality all the time. In the Hebrew language books 
and newspapers are published that can occupy a 
place of honor in universal literature. Of late, the 
Hebrew language has produced poets and authors 
that find no equals in the ranks of the Yiddish writ- 
ers. Finally, Hebrew must be looked upon, even m 
practical life, as a true national language. Large 
commercial enterprises conduct their correspondence 
and bookkeeping in the Hebrew language, and many 
hundreds of thousands of private individuals employ 
the Hebrew language as their medium of correspond- 
ence. 

Such a language cannot be referred to as dead by 

79 



PARROT GODS 

any one who knows what he is saying. 

Some assert that th-e modern Jew, who speaks in 
Jargon, is estranged from the spirit of that language 
used long, long ago in Asia. Irrational! Untrue! 
Statistics show that a great many modern Jews study 
and acquire the Hebrew language and are well ac- 
quainted with its spirit. 

Hebrew has always been the greatest medium 
among ourselves, and the only language that can 
unite us into a nation. Hebrew has from time 
immemorial been the soul, the spirit of our perse- 
cuted nation. Hebrew has been and will forever 
be our consolation, our hope, our pride. Hebrew 
will forever remain the most precious heirloom 
bequeathed to us by our great and brave forefathers. 

Justly Dr. Max Nordau remarks in one of his let- 
ters to me that "this (the Jargon) is a goluth-fiower 
and bound to disappear, by one means or another, 
with the goluth itself," but the Hebrew language has 
been and will ever be our national language! 



80 



AMERICAN JUDAISM 

WHEN a Jew who has just reached our shores 
hears either in a hall or in the street a so- 
called address, in which the speaker, an ex- 
kneepants-maker and a present union leader, be- 
smirches the Jewish religion and makes threats 
against the Deity, he will think that American 
Judaism is dead, or at least on the point of death. 

On the contrary, when the same newcomer enters a 
Synagogue at twilight and hears at times the most 
nonsensical droshos of certain Rabbonim and magi- 
dim, in which they display the extreme ultra-ortho- 
dox views and comments on the daily problems, 
which confront us and are of paramount importance 
to us, — he will think that Judaism is flourishing here 
and is in the prime of its strength. 

And when he looks around and notices the big 
signs with the inscription "Kosher" on many of the 
butcher shops, restaurants, lunch-rooms, etc., — he 
takes it for granted that American Jews are very pi- 
ous, and that they do not use even toothpicks without 
a hechsher. . . . 

However, the new arrival would be wrong in both 
of his inferences, for American Judaism is neither 
dying nor blooming. 

It is, alas, in a chaotic state, in an anomalous and 
confused condition, befogged and beclouded. 

Why? Who is to be blamed for it? 

In my opinion, there are four principal causes for 
this state of affairs. 

1. The half-baked agitators and lecturers, who 
understand Judaism as a mujik — Spinoza's philoso- 

81 



PARROT GODS ^ 

phy, and who nevertheless speak of it with the au- 
thority of great scholars. These gentlemen who 
without any right call themselves "free thinkers," 
though they are everything but thinkers; these de- 
stroyers want to make their followers believe that 
every boor, every wanton fellow, has a right to wage 
war against the God of Israel, to mock at the sanc- 
tity of religion, to scoff at the holiness of tradition, 
and to make fun of everything that we cherish, that 
we revere, that is dear to us and precious. 

2. The Rabbis. Many of them stripped Judaism 
of all its best treasures, of all its loftiest traditions, of 
its most valuable gifts and acquisitions, leaving only 
a skeleton which they stuffed with modern straw. . . 

And this light food is, as it seems, very palatable 
for their congregations, whose members at times care 
more for the cantor with the chorus girls than for 
the Rabbi with his oratorical effusions. 

3. The Rabbonim. An orthodox Rabbi was and 
in many communities still is the real spiritual leader 
of his flock. 

Such a Rabbi ought to be well versed in Jewish 
lore, a real Talmudical scholar, and above all, — a 
noble and pure character, a power for good, a posses- 
sor of the highest moral qualities, and a real "ser- 
vant of the Lord." 

The Talmud says : "If the Rabbi is like the angel 
of God, they should seek the law of his mouth." 
(Chagiga p. 15) ; it is, if the Rabbi desires that his 
doctrines be accepted, and that the Torah he teaches 
be appreciated, — he ought to be as good as an angel, 
pure as an angel, and as far from earthly faults as 
the inhabitant of the Heaven. 

Are our Rabbonim angel — men? 

82 



PARROT GODS 

Oh, I wish that all of them should be at least men I 

"Poverty is like death," says the Talmud (Nedarim 
p. 7), and this is the real excuse for many Rabbonim, 
whom poverty and misery oftentimes compel to act 
not as they ought to. 

Many an idealist forgets his idealism when hunger 
knocks at his door. Many, many beautiful teachings 
and glorious dreams are fading and disappearing un- 
der the strong hand of materialism. Life, stern life 
plucks away the most beautiful flowers of people's 
idealism and forces them to cringe like worms and do 
things which are not in accord with their hearts 
desire 

4. The people. Our nation does not take the 
right care of its spiritual leaders, of our teachers, of 
our scholars. Our nation appreciates dead letters 
more than their living expounders. Many Rabbonim 
are actually starving, and nobody takes any notice 
of such an occurrence. Many of them are serving 
their congregations for a salary which couldn't be 
compared even with the smallest wage of the poorest 
working man. 

Let the people treat our teachers and preachers 
rightly and justly, and then, of course, we shall have 
a right to demand from them more active work 
along the lines of Judaism and nicer and nobler per- 
sonal deeds. 

It is an established fact that not only the poor 
Rabbonim, but even many rich reform Rabbis are 
not leaders of their flocks, but are led by every trus- 
tee of their congregations. And this is very, very 
deplorable ! 

If everyone is entitled here to free speech, a Rabbi, 
a leader, a speaker and any public man should insist,. 

83 



PARROT GODS 

at any cost, on having a free platform and a free will. 
They must herald truths as they understand them; 
they must say things as their minds and conscience 
dictate to them; they must reproach without fear the 
evil-doers, no matter how powerful the latter may 
be. Leaders ought not to play the role of mounte- 
banks, who are changing their faces and their clothes 
for the sake of a "bravo" or to please the circus 
goers. 

Every public man, especially a spiritual leader, 
should not play the role of a merry Andrew. 

"Words that come from the heart enter the 
heart," remarked our great savants, and this is a fact 
which ought to be remembered by our teachers, 
preachers and our leaders. 

Judaism needs good support, and still more earn- 
est, zealous, enthusiastic, scrupulous and unselfish 
supporters. 

And it will flourish, it will gain more strength and 
prestige, and be again for the Jewish people old and 
young, a pillar of light, a tower of hope, a source of 
inspiration, a sanctum sanctorum. 



84 



EDUCATION AND PSYCHOLOGY 

"The world is saved only by the breath of the 
school children.'' (Sabbath p. 119). 

"No education deserves the name unless it develops 
thought. A true teacher should penetrate to what- 
ever is vital in his pupil, and develop that by the light 
and heat of his own intelligence." — E. P. Whipple. 

PSYCHOLOGY is a science describing and ex- 
plaining mental phenomena. Now since Educa- 
tion aims to train the mind, the science of Educa- 
tion ought to make the fullest possible use of every 
branch of Psychology. There is a close interdepen- 
dence between these two sciences, the purposes of Ed- 
ucation still being supreme in determining what is 
to be taught, yet depending upon the results of Psy- 
chology to show how and in what order the different 
subjects shall be taught. 

Before proceeding further with my views on the 
relation between the two sciences, I wish to disclaim 
any attempt to show that with a full knowledge of 
psychological theories, would come a full solution 
of all the perplexing educational problems of the day. 
I do not expect to attain to any formulas tending to 
simplify and mechanize the work of teachers. Far 
from this is my position; for I strongly urge that a 
full appreciation of the relation of the two sciences 
would tend more than anything else to vitalize the 
increasing interest of teachers in their pupils. 

The fad of the last few years, the great pretensions 
made for the good derived from the application of 

85 



PARROT GODS 

Psychology to Education has been extravagant. We 
ought not, however, to condemn utterly this wild en- 
thusiasm as a fad, if you will ; for much good can oe 
seen resulting from it. We must point out its extra- 
vagances and abuses, and then more diligently make 
use of its great truths. 

When, in the early eighties of the Nineteenth Cen- 
tury, it was perceived how widespread was the dis- 
content with the methods of the Normal Schools, in- 
vestigation showed that a knowledge of the princi- 
ples of teaching was necessary to get teachers out of 
their mechanical rut into vital originality of teaching. 
Psychology was looked upon as able to give the re- 
quired aid to flexibility and adaptibility. Every- 
where throughout the country came this tremendous 
enthusiasm for a science, which dealt with those as- 
pects of mental life connected with the production of 
changes in human beings by consciously directed 
human influences. This was the hope entertained of 
educational psychology, which it was believed would 
provide the teacher with methods obtained from a 
consideration of the psychological laws of learning. 
There was, however, little practical return from this 
new enthusiastic attempt. 

There are many reasons for this. First of all the 
psychology taught was erroneous, — unfit to bring 
any practical results. It was the "old faculty psy- 
chology," the training of the imagination, the mem- 
ory, etc. The mind was conceived as made up of so 
many faculties ; and learning dates for instance 
meant cultivating the memory, learning poetry the 
imagination. These faculties were supposed to be 
unified by the self. This was the one great fault 
which brought about a reaction against the study of 

S6 



PARROT GODS 

psychology as a factor in education. 

Another difficulty and a more serious one was our 
discovery that we knew in reality very little about 
psychology. It was just beginning to get out of the 
metaphysical and into the scientific field, and was not 
sufficiently advanced to give man, engaged in the 
control of human forces, much more useful knowl- 
edge than he could obtain by observation of his own 
special problems, and by common sense inferences 
from what he sees in daily life. The man who 
brought out clearly and forcibly that the field of 
educational psychology is small, yet very important, 
was Professor William James, of Harvard Univer- 
sity; but many new facts have been urged since the 
appearance of his book. 

I will now point out what I think educational psy- 
chology can do and is doing in helping us to improve 
our school systems of teaching. The aim is (a) to 
get students to look upon the mind as working ac- 
cording to definite laws. The student is to be the 
observing naturalist, and the teacher is to look upon 
the pupil as a reacting mind, working according to 
definite laws. In other words the aim is that the 
interest in the human organism should arouse the 
habit of recognizing laws of mind as well as of mat- 
ter; (b) educational psychology aims to stimulate in- 
terest in determining these laws. We are to learn 
introspection in order to find that the important law 
of association, for instance, will interpret the causes 
for the sequence of ideas in a revery as well as in 
conscious memory. We are to recognize that educa- 
tion can make most important use of this law of as- 
sociation in helping the training and development of 
the pupil; (c) educational psychology can teach at 

87 



PARROT GODS 

what period memory for crude facts is best, when the 
power for abstract thinking comes, what are the 
periods for the peculiar mental traits of scepticism, 
melancholy, and the like. 

It is the business of the psychologist to investigate, 
the duty of the teacher to know what has been found 
out and to apply such knowledge as it fits his own 
peculiar conditions. There is a tremendous lot of 
work to be done to show the importance of the prob- 
lems, to show how little we know of them, and there- 
fore how important it is to investigate them. This, 
however, is the work of the psychologist, the educa- 
tional theorist, and not of the teacher. The posses- 
sion of laws already worked out, the habit of looking 
upon the child as a living thing acting according to 
laws will inspire the teacher with new interest in the 
children as individuals, wth their own peculiar traits 
in conjunction with the characteristics of all. 

The teacher needs to feel interest in the miental life 
of his scholars, from the point of view of interpre- 
tation and appreciation of their mental states. The 
teacher must learn to understand the individual de- 
sires and ambitions and characters of his pupils ; for 
without this sympathy there is no interest, and the 
work is necessarily routine. Psychology offers gen- 
eral recommendations concerning the best ways to 
get girls and boys to study, to observe, to attend, to 
understand,, to. remember, and. to. apply, knowl- 
edge. It shows how to form habits and to de- 
velop power and capacity. It forces the teacher to 
consider physical conditions, if he wishes the best 
mental results. He must consider matters of hy- 
giene, of light, of air, of refreshment, of fatigue and 
other details of similar bearing, which show the 

88 



PARROT GODS 

condition of our health is a great determining factor 
in the comprehension of the mental life. Psychol- 
ogy teaches us not to project our own state of con- 
sciousness into the child and imagine that we know 
the child. We want to get what the child is, not 
what we think it is. Psychology will help in point- 
ing out the true method for the development of the 
mind of the child. 

There are three ways, three special lines of psycho- 
logical knowledge which can influence the practical 
working of education. 

I. The psychology of children shows facts about 
instinctive tendencies, the gradual maturing of ca- 
pacities, tendencies useful and harmful in childrea s 
habits of observing, associating, and reasoning, facts 
concerning the kinds and amount of knowledge child- 
ren may be expected to possess at different ages and 
under different conditions. It points out the relation 
of the mental to the physical well being. It fur- 
nishes us with the results of inquiry into nature, and 
the amount of individual differences. We learn to 
consider the relative shares of original nature and 
experience in the formation of human intellect and 
character. 

Those who plan educational systems and construct 
programs of studies for schools and select methods 
for teaching, now find it to their advantage to take 
account of the relationship among the various factors 
in education and certain traits of the human mind. 
The increased knowledge of individual differences 
makes the attempt to get every one in class on the 
same level of achievement futile. 

II. The knowledge of psychology teaches the 
educator the great guide he can be in shaping the 

89 



PARROT GODS 

characters of scholars. Each one is able to shape 
mental life; for man is more nearly master of his 
own intellect than of anything else in nature. The 
mind is readily influenced for the nervous system is 
very modifiable. This general law of the modifiabil- 
ity of the mind by every thought and feeling and act 
of man's life is the most important of practical les- 
sons of psychology. What we are depends on what 
we were in the past. Psychology shows that every 
thought, every act of life counts, that we build 
the ladder by which we climb, that nothing happens 
by chance. Man not only creates his own future; 
but in some measure his own present by his power 
of selecting what features of his surroundings shall 
influence him. The psychology of attention then 
teaches that we are as truly rulers as victims of cir- 
cumstances. 

III. Another of the practical problems is to con- 
duct life so as to think and act rightly with as little 
effort or strain possible. Psychology offers help in 
two ways : (a) Tension and effort are lessened by 
arranging circumstances so that undesirable ideas and 
impulses shall seldom appear. If the child for in- 
stance finds it hard to study and concentrate his mind 
in the midst of the family circle, he should have a 
room where no distracting noises can disturb him. 

(b) Intelligent workers soon learn that discretion 
is the better part of valor — that to avoid temptation 
is wiser than to resist it. Then it is not always true 
that the harder work we make of our mental tasks 
the better we do it. Success is measured by the 
amount done, not by the feelings experienced in do- 
ing it. The best men morally are those who do right 
without a moral struggle. 

90 



PARROT GODS 

Again the relation of psychology to education 
makes its best practical application when a system of 
education finds its best results in making use of the 
powers of the child according to the order and the 
strength of their development, and in endeavoring to 
direct those powers into right directions. 

Psychology shows the educator that from its first 
years until the age of six or seven the child is more 
or less the sport of circumstances, that the mind is 
passive, that there is very little voluntary attention. 
From this time until about fourteen the mind b-^'.- 
comes more and more active. It is not only acted 
upon by environment, but reacts upon it. Sensation 
and perception are now stored in a working memory. 
A thing well learned at this age is rarely forgotten. 
The judgment gradually becomes more reliable, the 
reasoning begins, and the feelings are often kept un- 
der better control. The will develops rapidly, often 
causing self-assertiveness at this age. From this 
time until the age of twenty or thereabouts, the mind 
becomes more subjective, it systematizes the knowl- 
edge of previous years. The verbal memory is 
weak. The aid of judgment is now invoked to 
aid the memory. Spontaneous feelings are more and 
more subject to will and intellect. Man is less and 
less influenced by environment. Development leads 
from dependence to independence. Education m 
promoting the development of the mind will accom- 
plish most by following the path of least resistance 
— that is by making use of the psychological analysis 
of the development of the mind. 

This leads us to a consideration of the educational 
value of voluntary and involuntary attention; for 
herein lies the difference between the old and the 

91 



PARROT GODS 

new school of education. Once effort was every- 
thing, interest nothing; but it is found that will- 
power implied in effort is lacking in young children. 
Keeping this in mind, teachers now rely on interest 
for securing attention, because little children, it is 
found, have little will-power, and are incapable of 
prolonged effort. We also know that the feelings of 
children are fairly well developed, and it is therefore 
easier to excite the feelings by interest than by trying 
to make them put forth effort. It is the degree and 
not the cause of attention which gives the depth of 
an impression. It is seen that we now attempt to 
make our teaching interesting by working in har- 
mony with the characteristics of the child's mind at 
the respective stages of development. I will grant, 
however, that many have embraced the new system 
too thoroughly and overlooking the fact that we 
must inculcate habits of attention. We must always 
guard, therefore, against the dangers of the too easy 
education which excludes effort. 

Psychology shows us that interest may be promot- 
ed by a changing or enlarging environment, and by 
increasing the knowledge of things already in the 
environment. It is then a problem of discovering at 
what age the pupil is sensitive to certain phases of 
his surroundings ; and to determine what methods 
would increase the knowledge of things in his en- 
vironment. 



92 



EDUCATIONAL VALUES 

''The awakening of our best sympathies, the cul- 
tivation of our best and purest tastes, strengthening 
the desire to be useful and good, and directing 
youthful ambition to unselfish ends — such are the 
objects of true education." — ^J. T. Headley. 

"A true teacher should penetrate to whatever is 
Tital in his pupil, and develop that by the light and 
heat of his own intelligence." — E. P. Whipple. 

"Vemunft und Wissenschaft, Des Menchen aller- 
hoechste Kraft!" — Goethe, Faust. 

IN all grades of educational work, educational val- 
ues are the crucial question in all theories of 
choice of subjects. A measure must be found by 
means of which we can assign a higher or a lower val- 
ue to different lines of study. We measure the educa- 
tional value of a subject, all v. ill agree, by its efficacy 
in promoting the realization of the aim of education, 
preparation for complete living. We measure a man's 
worth by his intellectual grasp, his esthetic and 
ethical insight, his power for action toward right 
and useful ends. Since these make the ideal man, 
they should be the ideal aim of education ; since they 
are qualities tending toward complete living, a study 
should be valued as it best contributes toward devel- 
oping them. 

We must, however, realize that individuals cannot 
be treated as a mass, but as persons with diverse 
wants and capacities, and that educational value 
is not a quality belonging inherently to any study. 
Only as it fits the time, place and child does the value 

93 



PARROT GODS 

belong to the study. This causes us to study how 
we may educate every child in order to develop in 
him the ideas that control people; how to put at the 
disposal of the pupil all that society has already ac- 
complished for itself. Mere passivity acquired by 
gaining a knowledge of the best of subjects is not 
enough; the interests and powers must so dominate 
a person as to impel him to action. 

I believe then that the kind of work a man volun- 
tarily engages in and the value of it for himself and 
for society depends on his dominant interests, on a 
person's motives and on his skill in his chosen activ- 
ity. A comprehensive and intelligent education 
ought to take into account the innate diversities of 
individuals and thereby produce the best results. 
Educational values ought to be accorded to different 
subjects according as the different power develops 
the most and the highest incentives to activity. We 
must then compare the incentives obtained through 
the different studies, for with interest obtained in 
different fields of work, habits of efficiency and 
thorough and successful achievement can be devel- 
oped. For the individual pupil the relative value of 
different subjects will correspond to the degree of 
interest they develop. 

We have stated that man's usefulness and hap- 
piness are best secured when his interests and capac- 
ities harmonize with his life-work, and when his par- 
ticipation in the varied interests of life is large. We 
can best realize the aim of education by subjecting 
the pupil to the influence of social and ethical in- 
centives. We should then have to consider subjects 
which yield the greatest number of such incentives as 
knowledge of great worth. Thus, great value would 

94 



PARROT GODS 

have to be accorded to the study of the best litera- 
ture, for by precept, by example, by every illustra- 
tion reading of good literature can supply ideals 
which can be fostered to secure for the individual 
vigor and loveliness of character. Through litera- 
ture opportunity is given to lay great emphasis on 
industry, on perseverence, on persistence, on veracity 
in word and act, on gentleness and disinterestedness. 
Through such good reading can be brought clearly 
to light the hatefulness and degradation of falseness, 
brutality and of greed. 

In a consideration of educational values, although 
certain studies, like literature can be of great value 
for all because of the varied incentives to right liv- 
ing and activity which it furnishes, I believe that 
special prescribed studies cannot have absolute 
worth for all, but can only have value relative to the 
individual's tastes and powers. This principle is be- 
ginning to be recognized and is becoming a dominant 
factor in the arranging of all school curricula. Ad- 
vance in the physical sciences, in hygiene, and in at- 
tempts to arouse spontaneous activity in the pupil 
show that the pupil is no longer considered a passive 
receptacle into which knowledge is poured; but that 
the scholar is the chief factor, dtDminating not only 
the sequence of teaching but the very choice of sub- 
jects. 

The law of the pupil's development must be the 
law of choice and the sequence to be followed by the 
teacher. Modern educators have breathed unwaver- 
ing confidence in laws of nature as mightier than any 
human devices. The first factor claimed by them in 
the principle of the educational value of different sub- 
jects is the development of the highest possible evo- 

95 



PARROT GODS 

lution of the pupil; the second factor is the demand 
for the useful, the practical, the near at hand. This 
last is powerful because it contains a great deal of 
truth; it is also dangerous because it contains only a 
part of truth. It declares that the end of life is 
adaptation to environment, and in the hands of men 
like Spencer science is made the watchword of this 
second factor. 

The reform movement presents these two phases; 
first, the development of the individual according to 
the law of nature; second, according to environment, 
wherein is the dualism of the ideal and the real. The 
truth is found in the synthesis of the two. The true 
principle of education is development as modified by 
environment. We wish to consider values in sec- 
ondary education, a period for most children between 
the ages of fourteen and eighteen. This is a period 
characterized by unprecedented physical growth, a 
period of intellectual turmoil and confusion, a period 
characterized by the flaming up of emotions not 
bridled by reason, a period of birth of will and of 
individual character. The period determining the 
best lines of realizing himself as a member of 
society. 

All the pupils must in an ideal secondary school 
learn to participate in life by knowing the world in 
which they live in order to adapt themselves to it in 
thought, in order to gain power to work therein with 
success. They must learn to know the world as 
representing the correlated nature of man, to know 
the world so as to acquire the beginnings of lofty as- 
pirations, of yearnings to sacrifice oneself for some- 
thing noble and true. 

In the growing boy there is more feeling than 

96 



PARROT GODS 

power to co-ordinate, and such power can be gained 
only by action ; hence arises the educational value of 
the playground, the laboratory, the workshop, debat- 
ing societies as incentives to individual investigations 
and independent work. This helps the development 
of the child, but the development is always modified 
by its environment. The secondary school cannot be 
open to broad, or rather free, election, for the mean- 
ing of the various studies has not as yet been brought 
to the conscious understanding of the pupils. The 
various powers have not as yet been developed to the 
full degree of conscious strength ; the natural bent of 
the student has not yet been fairly tested. 

I believe that the child must be trained by a wise 
oversight of his elections to discover his natural 
bent, his dominant interests, to work toward the 
soul's highest realization ; therefore we must know 
the world in its different phases. Each subject has 
its peculiar value for knowledge, for power, for prac- 
tical life; it has its special value for us individuals 
according to the interest we take in it and the incen- 
tives to activity it arouses in us. We cannot make 
exact but only approximate estimates of each line of 
study. 

The study of languages is valuable because it is the 
instrument that makes social organization possible; 
it enables each to profit by the experience of all. 
By means of the languages human knowledge is pre- 
served and the progress of civilization is made possi- 
ble. It is one of the powers for the understanding 
of human character in all its different environments. 
The study of languages (our own and the modern 
ones preferred for the purpose of literature, because 
the ancient ones are too difficult for us to get an 

97 



PARROT GODS 

economical value from them unless we are specially 
interested in them) gives esthetic and ethical culture 
and in a practical way applies poetry to life. Liter- 
ature arouses many interests, but in itself does n(#r 
yield much power. 

Language and the sciences comprise the great 
mass of human information in the purest types. The 
sciences are the most nearly perfect em'bodiment of 
truth and of the ways of getting at truth. It exempli- 
fies the devices for establishing facts under the variety 
of circumstances and saps the credit of everything 
affirmed without truth. In proportion to our regard 
for truth and the means of ascertaining what is true 
is our power over the material and the moral world. 
The greatest test of knowledge is the test of practical 
fulfilment, and science is such knowledge. Then, 
again, the sciences, are a great liberalizing power in 
the mode of setting forth generalized knowledge 
(with gradation of generality) and with various 
relations of co-ordination. All this value it gives to 
the individual most interested in it. 

The experimental and inductive sciences give in- 
tellectual discipline. Inductive generalization through 
observation and experimentation attains here its 
highest force. Such sciences teach how far empiri- 
cal generalization is to be trusted. Their fertilizing 
information is diffused in the conduct and the arts of 
life. They provide a guidance for life. An under- 
standing of them enables its followers to penetrate 
into many of the secret workings of the natural world ; 
thus the natural sciences studied by those who have 
been especially interested in them largely form the 
basis of our material civilization. 

Mathematics treats of quantitative knowledge, and 

98 



PARROT GODS 

has its own peculiar intellectual method of training. 
Its procedure is purely deductive or demonstrative. 
It makes possible all commerce, great structures and 
the higher development of physical science. Through 
it the pupil gains in deductive reasoning-power, but 
this power can seldom be carried over into other 
fields owing to the special data it deals with. I know 
that it is a most dry and unsatisfactory study to 
those who are not interested in it, but to the initiated 
it gives a feeling of intellectual power ; it has its own 
charm and fascination. Its marvelous devices when 
once worked out impel toward trials of new prob- 
lems, and the successful worker in intricate and fas- 
cinating methods finds it a most wonderful study. 
It cultivates the concentration of sustained attention; 
but does not teach to observe, to generalize, to classi- 
fy. Too exclusive devotion to it, at the cost of other 
valuable knowledge, gives, I think a wrong bias of 
mind toward truth in general. 

An interest in history and economics is a broader 
one; it is an interest in human life, in human char- 
acter, in the world about us. 

From history, if it is taught in the right spirit, the 
pupil who loves it and even the ordinary student of 
history can get an understanding of the evolution of 
the forms of government, an evolution better and 
better adapted to permit individual freedom, and the 
participation of all citizens in the administration of 
government. History is a corrective to the one- 
sidedness of the methods of science. Science seeks 
explanation in the mechanical conditions and im- 
pulses received from the environment, while history 
keeps its gaze fixed on human purposes and studies 
the genesis of national actions through the previous 

99 



PARROT GODS 

stages of feelings, convictions and conscious ideas. 
In history the pupil has for his object self -activity, 
reaction against environment. When we ask for the 
educational value of history we ask for the power of 
history to educate. Man's task is the making, the 
developing of a noble ideal of life. History is a 
record of life and must therefore reckon with the 
two sides of life, the ideal and the real. The true 
struggle and the determining issues of life are found 
in the ideal aspect of history. History shows the 
concrete facts in which philosophy, ethics, psycho- 
logy, political science and economy find their illus- 
trations. The recorded facts of history exist to be 
judged, and have value only in proportion to the 
thought wrought into them. As mere facts they 
impede action. The real facts of history are con- 
crete manifestations of the ideal, and their worth for 
men is measured by the recognition of the truth they 
embody. Not until history is put on a basis com- 
mensurable with its dignity as a record of life can it 
have efficacy in education of which it is capable. Its 
study gives development to the powers of man which 
general education demands. 

There is a great educational value in the constant 
exercise of analysis. The pupil must feel in history 
its current of passions, its strong out-reaching after 
desired objects, its aspiration, its struggles, its on- 
ward sweep. Contemporary life must be grasped in 
this way. History and the life of to-day must be 
identified. Psychological powers find constant ex- 
ercise in the study of history. The pupils gain an 
understanding of human nature and grasp the mani- 
fold sides of man's nature. The logical and ethical 
powers find wide range if the teacher is interested in 

100 



PARRQ'i GODS 

the great ethical, political and philosophical questions 
of the time. For special education other studies may 
be better, but for a general education history has a 
great educational value. 



101 



THE JEWISH STAGE 

IT is rumored that the managers of the Jewish the- 
aters encountered a heavy deficit for the season 
just ended, and that they are placing the blame at 
the door of the Jewish theatergoers. I do not know 
how true this rumor is, but if it be so, our East Side 
Jews are to be congratulated on the improvement of 
their taste. 

It is a well-established fact that the managers of 
the Jewish theaters, who are, or at least think that 
they are, real "stars" in the firmament of Art, do not 
want to give any consideration to the demand and 
the wishes of the more intellectual class of their 
patrons. The managers look upon their theaters 
merely from the standpoint of commercialism, and 
upon a good sale of tickets — as the best criticism. 

And certainly there was a time that this policy and 
viewpoint brought the managers good results. Such 
a time was when the Jewish theater was still in em- 
bryo and the Jewish public looked upon it as on a 
"Purim-Spiel." A song by a so-called actor and an 
outrageous dance by a so-called soubrette, who ac- 
complished wonders with her feet, constituted the 
"theater" and gained the loud applause of the gal- 
lery. But since the late Jacob Gordin, whom friend 
and enemy must consider as the reformer of the Jew- 
ish stage, came out with real plays — splays which, 
with all their faults and deficiencies, are undoubtedly 
the very best in the Jewish repertoire, since this tal- 
ented playwright showed and proved that a very 
strong and good drama could be produced without 

103 



PARROT GODS 

being interwoven with lays and harangues; since 
this, at one time the ruler of the Jewish stage, gov- 
erned the actors as well as the "bosses" — the Jewish 
theater became more of a place deserving its name. 
It must be admitted that even then many quasi-plays 
were introduced and some of them were a material 
success. But it is also a fact that the better actors, 
for whom their profession is not merely a job, or, as 
the German says Mohrenwasche, were ashamed to 
take part in such plays. 

I remember well that the gifted actor, Mr. L. 
Blank, almost with tears in his eyes, complained to 
me at one of the performances of a "historical" pla}' 
in which he had an important role that he was com- 
pelled to make a fool of himself and to display "art" 
in an "Indian" show. 

I wish to confess that many of Gordin*s plays do 
not appeal to me; against the tendencies of some of 
them I raised my voice in protest. But his plays 
have faults, while the plays of almost all the other 
Jewish playwrights are merely faults without plays. 
Gordin was a literateur in the best sense of the word , 
he was very well acquainted with European litera- 
ture ; he had a clear conception of drama and art, and 
he didn't try to cater to the tastes of the gallery. 
None of the other Jewish playwrights, however, 
possesses his intelligence, his individuality, his nat- 
ural gifts, and, therefore, we see in their plays a lack 
of technique and of the rudimentary elements of a 
real play. Their heroes are marionettes without 
characters and without principles. They are in a 
way like moving-pictures, with the exception that the 
latter are mute, while the former go around talking. 
And what kind of talk sometimes! Many of their 

104 



PARROT GODS 

monologs and dialogs show the lack of urbanity, are 
full of insolence and are absolutely absurd. 

Some of the Jewish playwrights have tried their 
hands at problem-plays, but such plays are far above 
their powers and their abilities, and instead of the 
play we have often seen a cheap farce. We need a 
great genius to write a real problem-play. Even 
Zangwill, who is head and shoulders above all the 
Yiddish writers (with one or two exceptions) did not 
succeed in his well-advertised and beautifully writ- 
ten problem-play. 

Another thing which causes the Jewish stage to 
degenerate is the over-production of Jewish play- 
makers. I think there is no other nation which pro- 
portionately produces so many playwrights as our 
own nation. Among the greatest writers — let us 
say, for instance, of the Russian and of the German 
literatures — only a few devote their pen to dramatic 
art, while in our own camp every quill-driver tries to 
write at least one play. And our managers, instead 
of encouraging the few better ones, who for being 
better paid and more appreciated, would devote more 
time, more zeal and the best of their ability to pro- 
duce better things, are trying to get "bargains," a 
course which sometimes satisfies their eagerness for 
money, but could in no way satisfy the better class of 
theatergoers. 

Besides the Jewish theater, which I hope will 
gradually improve and will become a very important 
factor in the life of the more intelligent Jews, there 
is a terrible evil in our gates — the evil of music-halls 
and variety shows. Every Jew who has the least 
respect for his nation and for himself must feel 
ashamed and disgusted when he becomes aware of 

105 



PARROT GODS 

what is going on in these "places of amusement." 
Songs are sung which would make even a "muzhik" 
blush; jokes are perpetrated which would be con- 
sidered very much out of place even in a beer-saloon ; 
tales are told about our nation of which the editor of 
Life could make good use. And in order to adver- 
tise their "big shows," boys stand around some of 
these places, and instead of pulling the passers-by by 
their sleeves, sing "attractive" songs full of vulgar- 
ity, of impudence and of shamelessness. 

Some time ago I passed by one of these halls, and 
I noticed a crowd around it, and in its midst a young 
boy stood and sang a song full of curses against the 
Russian Tsar. Nobody can accuse me of sympathy 
with the outrageous Russian tyrant. There aren't 
many who condemn the Russian regime as I 
do. Still I felt somewhat disgusted when I heard 
the curses, accompanied by wild gestures, directed 
against the Russian autocrat by this little fellow. 
We need one who could write clean songs which 
should possess more or less literary merit and should 
contain even at times some moral. He would surely 
clear up the infected air of these halls; he would 
gradually clean out these Augean stables, which are 
at present a shame for us and a peril to the morality 
of our children. 



106 



THE "REALISM" OF THE JEWISH STAGE 

AS a writer who has made a thorough study of the 
Jewish problems which daily arise in our ghet- 
tos and who has observed the Jewish stage in 
its various phases, I want to express my views on the 
advantages and the disadvantages of a Jewish 
theater. 

A theater is a very important factor in the life of 
all civilized nations; it is a mirror which shows 
the people the virtues and vices of their fellowmen, 
their struggles and strifes, hopes and aims — thus 
teaching the public indirectly different things, and 
giving them the opportunity to think how to solve 
many, many questions which life continually presents 
to us. The theater is and ought to be, at the same 
time, also a place of amusement, where people can 
have, if I may be allowed to say so, a "spiritual 
shower," which may clear away their daily sorrows, 
their heartrending troubles, their afflictions and 
worries. 

The last, and by no means the most insignificant 
purpose of a theater is its great power to affect peo- 
ple, who have been accustomed to spend their leisure 
time in gambling houses, saloons and in similar 
"nice" places, to give up those places and to go 
instead to see a good play. 

All these advantages we require and ought to de- 
mand from theaters in general, and not specifically 
from the Jewish ones ; but the most important thing 
which we should expect from a Jewish theater still 
more then from a non-Jewish one is interesting plays 

107 



PARROT GODS 

full of sound, fresh humor and real amusement. 
Why? 

The public which fills up the Jewish theaters is 
different from the public which can be seen in non- 
Jewish theaters. The latter consists of an audience 
of different classes, while the greater part of the 
public in the former is made up of poor workmen, 
sweat-shop girls and the like. Who need mental 
diversion as well as physical entertainment more than 
they? They, the unhappy ones, the downtrodden, 
who spend their lives in a continual struggle to make 
both ends meet, and who are oftentimes compelled 
to endure hunger and cold, ought to find in the the- 
ater, a place where they give away their hard- 
earned pennies, rest and consolation after a long, long 
day's work under the auspices of a very "friendly" 
foreman. 

Do our theaters fulfil this requirement? 

My answer will be a negative one. I am sorry, 
very sorry to state that the Jewish theaters, especial- 
ly during the last two or three years, have produced 
plays, which were a disgrace for every person pos- 
sessing even an elementary knowledge of art and 
human nature, and whose taste has not been spoiled 
so much as not to be able to make a distinction be- 
tween good and evil. 

The authors and the actors of these plays, who 
have been reproached by some critics, took refuge 
behind the modern fortification that bears the sign 
"Realism," and from its top they began to throw 
stones at their critics and to abuse them. After- 
wards the lovers and admirers of the pseudo-realis- 
tic school started to lecture before rough crowds on 
the value of such realism, illustrating their lectures 

108 



PARROT GODS 

with plays like the "God of Revenge." by Asch, and 
the latest dramatic outpouring of Hirschbein. 

Both plays can be justly called "Specimens of 
Ultra-Cynicism." They have no logical situation; 
some scenes are wild and prostitutional, and the lack 
of psychological insight and good taste can be seen 
at every turn. 

And those plays — I am ashamed to say — have been 
the most important feature of the Jewish stage in 
New York! 

Why? 

"Because they are realistic," I seem to hear in re- 
sponse. 

Realistic! Oh, what a poor conception some men 
have of the real meaning of this word! 

Realism means a true description of things which 
exist, a faithful representation and interpretation of 
life. When we see, for instance, swine rolling in 
mud, or rats creeping from holes and corners, we 
call such scenes also realistic; but, I pray, would a 
real artist use his pencil to depict such things? 
Would an esthetic writer use his pen to describe the 
color of the mud in which the pigs were lying, or the 
glance of the rats' eyes while they were creeping? 
I am quite positive that they would not do so. Be- 
sides, many things which can be described in books 
should not be represented on the stage, for in books 
we are only reading about things, while on the stage 
our eyes see and our ears hear them. 

If the Jewish stage will put an end to plays of the 
above-named caliber, I shall be more than glad to 
await with eagerness the establishment of a Jewish 
theater in our city; but if sensational actors and 
playwrights want to continue their "good" work in 

109 



PARROT GODS 

accordance with the requirements of the half-crazy 
decadents, I will be among the first to raise my voice 
against any Jewish theater of this type. 

There is enough smoke and dirt in our life without 
that ! 



110 



RUSSIAN JEWS AND THE TSAR 

AFTER the horrible Kishinef massacres, a repre- 
sentative of the New York American and Journ- 
al came to me for a statement. In my state- 
ment, which was pubHshed under the heading "Holds 
Tsar for Massacre^" I said, among other things, that : 

The Tsar, who announces himself as "Freedom^s 
Angel," is really a cutthroat and a hypocrite. To 
him belongs the blame for all the cruelties to which 
the Jews have been subjected in Darkest Russia. I 
am convinced that the high authorities at St. Peters- 
burg instructed the people of Kishinfef to do this 
gruesome, deadly work. 

A few days after my statement was published the 
mail brought me two letters; one from Dr. Williara 
Osborne McDowell, of 203 Broadway, New York, 
president of the "League of Peace," to whom I had 
brought a letter of introduction from the late Count 
Leo Tolstoi, congratulating me on my true and 
courageous statement; the other letter was from a 
countryman of mine. It was written in very poor 
and faulty Yiddish and the content of it was that I 
am an "ocher Israel" — the troubler of Israel — 
for daring to speak in such terms of his "majesty." 
After my little comedy, "The Pleasures of the Tsar," 
was published in The Hebrew Standard, my lament- 
ed friend, the late J. P. Solomon, then editor of the 

paper, showed me a letter he had received from an 
orthodox Jew, in which he protested against my 
article for many reasons, the chief of which, how- 
Ill 



PARROT GODS 

ever, was because of Ecclesiastics* saying (Chap, x., 
20) : "Curse not the king." 

Such rebukes and such "reasonable" reasons I had 
in plenty whenever I published an article or a poem 
against the Russian tyrant. These things sometimes 
amuse me, but sometimes they caused me also very 
great grief, for they showed me that many of my 
Russian brethren are still under the repressive influ- 
ence of the Russian scourge instead of obliterating 
from their minds Russian affairs and giving all their 
thoughts to their new home, to the United States. 

I mention these things now on account of two ar- 
ticles published lately in the American press in re- 
gard to the Tsar and the passports. One comes 
from Champ Clark, the Speaker of the House of 
Representatives, and is a fiery indictment of the Rus- 
sian regime. Mr. Clark writes like a real American 
whose soul is saturated with the immortal principles 
of our great republic, and whose view is broad, fear- 
less and just. The other one comes from the pen of 
an anonymous writer, who signs himself "Veteran 
Diplomat." The mere fact that the Tsar needs such 
defense (everyone, of course, understands that this 
article is either dictated or inspired by the Russian 
government!) gave me much delight, for it shows 
that even the Russian autocrat, who destroys and 
kills right and left in his own kingdom, is afraid of 
American public opinion, and is desirous of being 
vindicated in the eyes of the American people. But 
the statement and the arguments of "Veteran Diplo- 
mat" are so childish, foolish, or rather are so treach- 
erous and truthless that the impartial reader, who 
knows only a little of the real conditions in Russia, 

112 



PARROT GODS 

would shrug his shoulder at reading them. 

The paid agent of the Russian government, who, 
by the way, speaks of Baron David Ginsburg as if he 
were still living, although he entered into the eternal 
rest almost a year ago, says that the Tsar and Stoly- 
pin were ready to better the conditions of the Jews 
and to nullify the special restrictions against them, 
but the Duma was in their way. Is this statement 
made in a jest? It is an established fact that the 
Tsar looks on the Duma as on a fifth wheel to a 
wagon. Most of its members, as well as all the 
officials in Russia, are merely marionettes, which 
move only when the mighty hand of their owner puts 
every spring in motion. 

The fox-diplomat states that the Tsar is a very 
liberal man, for he gave his land a constitution. 
Yes, he gave the constitution, being surrounded with 
rivers of innocent blood, and he took it away again 
amidst the thunder of guns and hissing of bullets, 
which his soldiers used at his command in order to 
kill the best minds of his country. 

The Russian agent says further that his govern- 
ment is willing to permit eminent Jewish bankers to 
enter within its boundaries. Eminent Jewish bank- 
ers? This, of course, is done on the general princi- 
ple that business is business and that "Der Jude 
ist 'treif nur sein Groschen ist 'kosher.' " But what 
about Oscar Straus and many, many others who were 
refused entrance? Is this also a result of the White 
Bear's sympathy for the Jews? And what about the 
Black Hundred? Is not the Tsar their chief and 
their shield? 

Again the fact that the Tsar protected the makers 
of the pogroms and the slaughterers of the Jewish 

113 



PARROT GODS 

mothers and babes will inscribe his name in history 
with the names of Nero, Titus and Caligula. For 
one reason or another the Tsar wants to whitewash 
himself in our eyes, and for this purpose he engages 
paid emissaries to defend him and even to glorify 
him. But we Americans, Jew and Gentile alike, 
should not be "bluffed" by phrases and we ought not 
accept a "gold brick" for gold. The condition of 
the Russian Jew is getting worse and worse ; the first 
cause of all the restrictions against them and of the 
martyrdom and all the troubles they are subjected to 
is he, his "Majesty" himself. He is the Pandora's 
box for his subjects in general and our poor brethren 
in particular. Let us awaken the conscience of 
humanity. Let us raise our voice in protest against 
the Russian wolf masquerading — for the outside 
world only — as an innocent lamb. Our free republic, 
the home of Washington, Jefferson and Lincoln, gave 
the signal for war against the wicked Russian re- 
gime. Let us continue it with the hope that every 
real American is with us. In the battle of light 
against darkness light must prevail. 



114 



LEO TOLSTOI 

THERE is no living writer whose name is sur- 
rounded with so m)uch glory, and to whose 
words the whole literary world is so ready to 
lend an ear, as the name and the works of Count Leo 
Tolstoi. Even the descriptions of his beard, shirt, 
overcoat, etc., are read with great interest by all 
lovers of art. 

Why? 

His admirers, of course, will surely repeat the 
exclamation of the French writer, Flaubert, as 
he read some of Tolstoi's productions in the beautiful 
garb, in which Turgenief presented them to the 
French public: "He is a second Shakespeare!" 

But even his opponents, the severest one among 
whom is our beloved Max Nordau, will nolens volens 
admit, as the latter himself in his book "Degenera- 
tion," that "every one of his (Tolstoi's) words awak- 
ens an echo among all civilized nations on the globe."' 
and that "his strong influence over his contempor- 
aries is unmistakable." 

When we who are freed from the conventional opin- 
ions about Tolstoi, will use impartial criteria and un- 
biased analysis in judging his works, we shall come 
to the conculsion that he, when considered merely 
as a novelist, is not by any means the greatest in the 
world's literature of the last century, as some of his 
critics claim. We must not make far journeys into 
universal literature and mention the names of sever- 
al foreign writers, in order to confirm this opinion, 
since the names of two Russian writers alone will be 

115 



PARROT GODS 

sufficient : I mean the names of Turgenief , the great 
creator of "Fathers and Sons," "Nest of Nobles," 
"Annals of a Sportsman," etc., and Dostoyesky, the 
author of "Crime and Punishment," "Recollections of 
a Dead House," "Poor People," etc. 

The former, as an artist, and the latter as a deep 
psychologist and as a great diagonstician of human 
diseases and troubles are in many instances above 
Tolstoi. But Tolstoi is not only a novelist — he is a 
great phenomenon, in whose personality are concen- 
trated many talents — he is a social theorist, a the- 
ologian and a great teacher of morals and ethics. 

As a novelist he has shown his greatness in "War 
and Peace," "Anna Karenina," etc. He possesses a 
clear understanding of human nature, an analytical 
comprehension of the human soul with all the secrets 
of its tender fibers, and a remarkable power of rep- 
resenting things as they are in reality. 

"War and Peace" is a description of Russian life 
during the year 1805-1815, when Napoleon passed 
through Europe like a gale. In this remarkable 
book Tolstoi analyzes with a skillful pen, with a deep 
understanding and a clear insight its most active 
characters : Alexander, Napoleon, Kutuzof and 
others; in it we can see as in a mirror the whole 
physiognomy of the army, from the obedient sol- 
diers up to the commanders and generals ; and all 
these descriptions are pictured with a masterly hand. 
In this book figures also a certain Bezushof, who, as 
Olenin in "The Cossacks," is, in many ways, a per- 
sonified ego of the present Tolstoi, and through 
whose actions and thoughts Tolstoi showed to us 
(perhaps at that time unconsciously) the embryo of 
his own conception of life, which he so forcibly de- 

116 



PARROT GODS 

veloped in his later writings. 

"Anna Karenina," the second great book of Tol- 
stoi, is a picture of Russian society life of the 
present day. The principal character in it, Anna, is 
a most charming woman and very tender and sincere 
while she loves, as can be seen when she gives up her 
husband, a dry statesman, for the sake of her strong 
affection and real devotion to Vronsky. In contrast 
with Annans life, which is wrecked and poisoned on 
account of her false step and conventional prejudices, 
Tolstoi poetically and almost pathetically pictures the 
life of Kitty and Levin, which gives us the idea of a 
sweet, charmng eclogue, full of grace and of infinite 
beauty, worthy of Theocritus' pen. 

The main idea of this book, as one of Tolstoi's 
French critics justly remarked, "is duty accomplished 
uninfluenced by the passions." The moral irresolu- 
tions and vacillations of the author's life are here 
very well reflected in the character of Levin, his 
commentator and interpreter. 

The style of the two above named books is, with 
some little exceptions, graceful and strong — an im- 
portant quality lacking in Tolstoi's later works, in 
which he brings, oftentimes, the style as a sacrifice' 
on the altar of tendency. 

In 1889 his "Kreutzer Sonata" appeared, and this 
little book at once became the subject of the whole 
civilized world's discussion. In order to escape the 
Argus-censor, this book first circulated all over Rus- 
sia in hectograph copies. 

In this book Tolstoi preaches a very strange and 
unnatural doctrine, i. e., the anti-marriage moral, 
the mortification of the flesh, etc. Pozdnichef, the 
hero of this book, through whose mouth Tolstoi 

117 



PARROT GODS 

speaks, says : "When human passions, especially the 
most violent — sensuality — shall have been sup- 
pressed, the union (of the individual beings which 
compose humanity) will be accomplished, and hu- 
manity, having attained its end, will have no further 
reason for existing/' 

With all my love and admiration for Tolstoi and 
his great genius, I must say that his philosophy and 
his theory which he tries to develop in his "Kreutzer 
Sonata," as well as in his story, "Family Happiness," 
are metaphysical, and far from sound sense. In his 
comedy, "The Fruits of Enlightenment," he tries to 
show the foolishness of science, the failures of 
knowledge and the uselessness of civilization, and 
the proofs which he presents to us, I dare say, are 
far, very far from being satisfactory. 

Tolstoi published also a novel, "The Master and 
Man^* which, from the artistic standpoint, can be 
considered a real gem; the same thing we can say 
about "Resurrection," many pages of which remind 
us of the great Tolstoi, before he started to renounce 
Art (a good example of which is his production 
"What is Art?") and to give himself up to the care of 
the soul and to religious feelings. 

In his book "My Confession" (which, by the way, 
faintly echoes Jean Jacques Rousseau's book of the 
same name), "My Fate," "A Commentary on the 
Gospel," etc., Tolstoi expresses his views on the posi- 
tion of people in the world, on their relations to each 
other, and shows himself sometimes a pantheist, 
sometimes a Buddhist. 

The positive side of his philosophy is : 



118 



PARROT GODS 

To lov« all men and to sacrifice even our life for 

them. 

The greatest negative law of his ethics is: 

*'Do not resist evil; suffer wrong," etc. 

If Toltsoi's positive precepts cannot always be 
carried out, they are at least reasonable, while his 
negative ethics, especially the above mentioned, are 
an absurdity and an impossibility; for, according to 
this theory, we must give full sway to murderers to 
kill us, to thieves to rob us, etc. 

And what, for instance, about the Russian autoc- 
racy? Shall we here also follow Tolstoi's assump- 
tion "Do not resist evil," and give a free hand to all 
the brutes of Nicholas' and Pleves* type to send our 
best men to the prisons, to Siberia and to the gal- 
lows ? Oh, no ! We are not living in Elysium, and 
Isaiah's prophecy that a wolf will dwell together 
with a sheep is far yet from realization, and, there- 
fore, we must bear in mind the practical Latin pro- 
verb, "Si vis pacem, para bellum," and not some of 
Toltoi's instructions, which are unreasonable as an 
abstract, and would be undesirable, if his followers 
would put them into concrete form. 

After corresponding with Count Leo Tolstoi for 
some time, a very strong desire took possession of 
me to see this "modern prophet" and to receive from 
him personal answers to numerous problems with 
which my mind had been tortured for many sleepless 
nights. 

And in the year 1899, while in St. Petersburg, I 
finally decided to go to the new Mecca — to Yesnaya 
Polyana, near Tula, the ancestral estate of Tolstoi. 

With a letter from my late friend and teacher, 

119 



PARROT GODS 

Daniel Mordovzef, the great Russian historian and 
novelist, who, by the way, was one of the greatest 
gentile defenders of Jewish rights, I reached Tolstoi's 
house. 

I came to Yasnaya Polyana in the morning about 
ten o'clock. It was a charming July day. The 
bright sun poured out from on high his golden 
streams, and covered with a magnificent mantle all 
the trees, flowers and other similar things around 
me. The birds sang out their morning prayer, and 
I felt as though they joined with me in my happy 
thought about seeing Tolstoi. Not far from Tol- 
stoi's house stands an old tree which is called "the 
tree of the poor." Near it there is a bench, on which 
almost every hour of the day some of the poor 
"mouzhiks," Tolstoi's neighbors, sit and await him; 
and near this historical tree I stood a while in medi- 
tation before I went to Tolstoi's door. 

A middle-aged woman, I suppose a servant, opened 
the door for me, and when I asked her whether I 
could see Lev Nikolayvitch, she answered that he 
was very busy. I took out from my pocket my card 
together with Mordovzef's letter and handing them 
to her, asked her to take them to Tolstoi. A few 
minutes later I was in Tolstoi's room, where he pre- 
pares his literary gems, where he makes new plans 
to better mankind, where he answers thousands of 
letters in different languages, and where he receives 
people from all the four corners of the earth, who 
come to him to tell him their troubles and anxieties, 
their desperate struggles and doubts, and to ask his 
advice, how to live a proper life. 

When I saw Tolstoi and listened to his talk about 
life, science, literature, etc., I reminded myself of 

1^0 



PARROT GODS 

Tantalus who was always thirsy, although he was 
surrounded by water. 

Tolstoi is a living perpetuum mobile, his mind al- 
ways works; he has studied many things, he has 
thought many thoughts, he was always looking for 
the sources of truth, for the truth itself, and, after 
all, he is still thirsty for the truth, and his mind is 
always occupied with new ways, with new means how 
to find it. Tolstoi never accepted so-called axioms 
about truth, before he himself analyzed them and 
proved them; he never took for granted convention- 
al laws. In the sieve of his mind he sifted the tradi- 
tional customs and habits, which we inherited from 
our predecessors, and fearlessly proclaimed what 
he himself thought about them. 

Besides, Tolstoi is one of those rare preachers 
whose actions go hand in hand with his teachings. 
Tolstoi is against books whose purpose is only 
amusement and not something higher, i. e., some 
moral lessons. He is also against those writers who, 
as he said, "bake" books. "A manuscript," he said 
to me, "must be carefully read and rewritten many 
times, in order to make every thought, every ex- 
pression easily understood by the reader." 

And Tolstoi always practiced what he preached! 

I know that every chapter of his books was re- 
written many times ; and that is, perhaps, the reason 
that the style of every one of them is so clear, so 
simple, and so digestible for our spiritual stomach, 
even then when Tolstoi treated the most serious sub- 
jects. 

In one of our conversations Tolstoi told me that he 
took Hebrew lessons, in order to be able to read the 
Bible in the original. 

121 



PARROT GODS 

And when I asked his opinion about the people 
who gave the Bible to the world, he repeated his 
words which he used in one of his letters to me: 
"The Jewish question is not to be separated from 
that of other nations ; they — the Jews — should not be 
too religious, rather more liberal. Nations who are 
liberal have no masters, no slaves. They are all 
equal. The Jewish nation is inclined toward liberal- 
ism and by this it will conquer. The Jews have giv- 
en to the world the Bible and the prophets, and al- 
ways preached freedom and liberalism." 

When I left Tolstoi, I felt a new fountain of vital- 
ity in my veins, new vigor and new aspirations, see- 
ing among a throng of moral pigmies at least one 
real giant, whose life is devoted to justice and truth, 
to the unfortunate and the needy. 



122 



DANIEL MORDOVZEF 

DANIEL Mordovzef is dead! 
In every obscure corner of life where the eye 
can penetrate, we see more shadow than light; 
more thorns than blossoms; more evil than good; 
more falsehood than truth; more littleness than 
greatness. Our own day, as well as the history of 
all times and all epochs supplies enough examples, 
enough facts to support my words. 

Yet, though in almost every land and every nation 
"evil" prevails over "good," though all round us the 
Mephistophelian elements outnumber the better, nob- 
ler, and honester elements, we can with certainty al- 
lege that Russia is the modern Sodom, and her gov- 
ernment assuredly not better than the Gomorrah of 
our day. In such a land it is much harder to be 
honest and conscientious than in a land where truth 
and decency prevail. And Mordovzef was born in 
Russia ! 

In the realm of Nicholas, in the country of Cos- 
sacks and "Nagaikas," (the knout), in the land of 
vileness and robbery, of inhuman laws and pogroms, 
Mordovzef was born, in 1830. He pursued his stud- 
ies at the gymnasium of Saratof, and later on at the 
St. Petersburg University. 

Mordovzef published very many books and was 
recognized, the world over, as a great historian and 
novelist. 

His best works, "Dvenadzati God" (The Twelfth 
Year) ; "Idealisti I Realisti" (Idealists and Realists) 
"Znamenyia Vremeni" (Miracles of the Times), all 

123 



PARROT GODS 

exercised in their times a very great influence on all 
readers. More particularly did the last named make 
a great impression, and was widely read in the ob- 
scurest corners of Russia. His words were simply 
devoured with as great avidity as Tshernishevsky's 
"Tshto Dielat" (What Shall We Do?) 

In all his books, Mordovzef displayed great talent, 
rare observation, warmth, deep psychology and 
earnestness. In all his works are mirrored, like a 
face in a clear and silver-pure lakelet, his noble in- 
tellect; his elevated sentiments, his pure soul, and 
his warm, earnest and amiable disposition. 

For Jews Modovzef had a particular interest, for 
not one of the Russian writers (not even Vladimir 
Soloviof ) so loved the Jews ; so interested himself 
in them as the departed Daniel Mordovzef. 

As early as 1873 he published in the well-known 
journal "Dielo" his famous article "Political Tact- 
lessness or Worse," which served as an answer to a 
venomous anti-Semitic article in the "Golos" ; and in 
the same year he published in this identical 
"Golos" his artistic article — "Something from 
the Alphabet of Civilization," in which he admon- 
ished the anti-Semites and taught decency to those 
mercenary spirits who regard literature as a busi- 
ness and barter their pens as Hester street fishwives 
their wares. 

In 1882 he published in the Russian Yiddish pa- 
per, "Rasvet" his articles, "Letters from Mr. Plum- 
pudding" and "Letters from a Christian About the 
Jewish Question." In these articles, he declares that 
he is ashamed to look Christians in the face after the 
way they had made pogroms against "God's chosen 
people." 

n4 



PARROT GODS 

Yes, Mordovzef was ever an advocate of justice to 
the Jews; he loved and honored them and took part 
in their sorrows and joys. In his article, "When 
Will Humanity Open Its Eyes?" he wrote: "The 
Christians have received a rich heritage from the 
Jews (religion and the Bible). Yet we, the heirs 
of these liberal rich men drive them from us 
like lepers, or we shut them up in Tsherta Osedlosti' 
(districts where Jews may dwell). It is the moral 
duty of the whole world to return to them (the Jew- 
ish people) their old home — Palestine. I feel sure 
that sooner or later this will happen. All humanity 
is beholden to the Jews, and their eyes will yet open 
to the fact." 

In his article, "The Golden Calf" (Novosti), he 
wrote: "If money is dear to Jews, it is because for 
an oppressed people money is the only aid in need. 
The Jew shows the threatening kulak' (fist) money 
and the 'kulak' unclenches its fingers to seize the 
money.'" 

I had the honor of being intimate with this great 
man, and to exchange many letters with him. In his 
letters to me there are gems of expression worthy of 
being set in gold. In a letter, dated Nov. 5, 1892, he 
wrote: "My view of Judaism I have expressed in 
my tale "Twixt Hammer and Anvil" (this tale was 
translated by the writer of this notice into Hebrew, 
and was published under the title of "Bein Hamt- 
zorim" (In the Straits), by the words of Rabbi Jacob 
Joseph Cohen; they convey my innermost thought. 
I can but bow myself before the mighty spirit of your 
people which a whole inimical world can not break." 

In his letter of June 7th, 1902, he wrote to me : "I 
am devoted with all my heart to your wonderful na- 

125 



PARROT GODS 

tion which the whole blind and silly humanity can 
not beat down — a thing they ought never to strive to 
do." 

I passed several weeks in Mordovzef's house in St. 
Petersburg. To the last moment of my life I shall 
not forget that happy time. 

Naturally, being thus together, we often spoke 
about art and literature, about the various problems 
of life, and so forth. Never would Mordovzef speak 
with such enthusiasm and exaltation as when he men- 
tioned the Jewish nation, which was as dear to him 
as his own flesh and blood. Almost all the Peters- 
burg litterateurs daily visited No. 6 "Stoliarni 
Pereulok," where Mordovzef lived. Not journalists 
alone, but learned men, who had gained a world-wide 
reputation, as well as young scribblers, beginners 
and students, for the greater part Jewish, were in 
the habit of calling on "Grandpa" Mordovzef with 
all sorts of difficulties to solve. He received all with 
a sympathetic, courteous manner, "besever ponim 
yafoth." 

He was strongly interested in Zionism, and he re- 
joiced exceedingly at the awakening of the Jewish 
nation from its historic lethargic sleep, no longer to 
depend on the "stranger-mercies" which are no 
stronger than spider-webs. Knowing that I was a 
frequenter of Mordovzef's house, Leon Rabinowitz, 
the former editor of "Hamelitz" and "Tog," gave 
me the book "Herodus" — a Hebrew translation of 
Mordovzef's "Erod," by the editorial staff of 
"Hamelitz" — begging me to present it to him. When 
I gave him the book he was overjoyed, and said to 
me : "Loving your folk as I do, I also love your Na- 

126 



PARROT GODS 

tional language — the language of the Bible — al- 
though, to my great sorrow, I do not understand it." 
Daniel Mordovzef is dead! 



127 



THE GREAT RUSSIAN APOSTLE OF 
OPTIMISM AND LIBERALISM 

VLADIMIR Korolenko was born in 1853, and 
to-day is ranked among Russia's greatest writ- 
ers. His attitude toward life in general 
is that of the optimist. His literary style is 
characterized by its realism, naturalness, truth 
and simplicity. He lacks the metaphysical ele- 
ment which one meets in Vladimir Soloviev ; 
nor does he lend himself to the mystic in- 
fluences which dominate the mind of Leo Tolstoi. 
He is a great and unflinching believer in the better 
side of Tiumanity, trusting faithfully that, sooner or 
later, the higher feelings of man will subdue his an- 
imal instincts, and that all mankind will be united 
in a bond of fraternity. 

Korolenko is not blind to the many dark fore- 
boding shadows which, too often, mar the clearness 
of our horizon. He is aware of the thorns and briars 
which obstruct the path of progress on every side. 
He is not deaf to the heartrending cries and sighs of 
the helpless and slaughtered who are seeking justice 
and find, instead — Siberia. . . . And, yet, his faith 
in the ultimate victory of civilization does not waver, 
and he never ceases to look forward to a future which 
will witness not only a freer existence for the per- 
secuted, but a satisfactory solution of mankind's 
social relations. And this faith, this hope of his, he 
voices in so rich and poetic a language, so fraught 
with love and enthusiasm for everything concerning 
his fellow-men — that we become hypnotized with the 

129 



PARROT GODS 

charm and witchery of his words, and, in spite of 
ourselves, we begin to think as he does, which is as 
he would have us think. His language is softer and 
richer than that of Gorki, who sometimes speaks to 
us through a hurricane, as it were, ever protesting 
against falsehood and wickedness with the terrific 
force of a cyclone. One of Korolenko's heroes ex- 
presses the hope that : "Wickedness will die out and 
all the nations of the earth will gather themselves to- 
gether to celebrate the Feast of Fraternity, and that 
no human blood will evermore be shed by the hands 
of a brother man." 

Korolenko's best work is his novel, Sliepoi 
Musikant (The Blind Musician), wherein he depicts 
in a highly-poetical style and with profound psy- 
chological analysis, the evolution of his hero, the 
joys and sorrows of his sick, yearning soul, the 
longing of his broken heart. . . In one of his letters 
to me he writes: "My views regarding the Jewish 
question are to a certain extent known to the pub- 
lic. Aside from my published articles in Russkoye 
Bogattstvo, I can point to my story 'Yom Kippur," 
and also my Pavlovskya Otzerki. I was born and 
spent my youth in the west of Russia. The Jews, as 
a people, I know well. When a youth I was on 
friendly terms with some of them, with others fate 
linked me in the critical moments of my 
life. The memory of those friendly relations is still 
very dear to me. It goes without saying that all 
this refers to the intelligent class of Jews ; never- 
theless, this is in itself sufficient to make of me the 
most strenuous opponent of all discriminations 
against Jews. I shall never forget how, before my 
very eyes, the street merchants of Pavlovsk, that 

130 



PARROT GODS 

most cruel and unscrupulous sort of the mercantile 
class, strictly demanded the banishment of the Jews 
from Pavlovsk. There is no doubt that the expul- 
sion of the Jews has not only not lessened but even 
increased the exploitation of the laboring classes — 
but then it was a pure, clean Russian exploita- 
tion. . . ." 

Korolenko was already sentenced by the autocra- 
tic Russian Czar, Alexander III., to Siberia, where 
he spent a few years, and his impressions of this 
land — which is as cold as the hearts of the Russian 
officials and as wild as their regime — he describes in 
a masterful manner in his "Sketches of a Siberian 
Tourist." 

Korolenko was also in America, and, as a result of 
his visit, appeared his wonderful sketch, "Speech- 
less," describing the poor immigrants who for the 
most part are like the dumb, being unable to speak 
the language of their new country. 

Korolenko published also a charming little sketch, 
"The Forest Murmurs," and he is for many years 
the editor of the journal "Russkoye Bogattstvo," 
which is considered the best and the most liberal 
Russian monthly. 

I met Korolenko but once in my life, but never, 
not till the day of my death, shall I forget my con- 
versation with him. 

And whenever I grow weary of the burdens of 
life, and the falsehood, corruption and pettiness of 
mankind strike terror at my soul, I recall Korolen- 
ko's strong and unshaken faith in better times, a 
truer and purer state of society and a brighter future 
— and I, too, believe. 



131 



AMBITION 

'^ Ambition is so powerful a passion in the human 
breasty that however high we reach, we are never 
satisfied." 

— Machiavelli 

IT was spring time. Throughout the length and 
breadth of the land the first kiss of the ardent sun 
had awaken to life the forces which, during the 
cold and gloomy winter months, had lain dormant in 
the earth under a fleecy covering of snow. 

Young, tender eaves of silvery green covered again 
the branches of trees which only a short month 
before had been bare and brown. Grass and flowers 
were springing forth in vigorous life, and the apple 
trees were covered with pink and white blossoms, in 
promise of the fruition which summer would bring. 

A cloudless sky smiled down upon a smiling earth 
and the air was filled with songs of birds, who, in 
full-throated chorus, gave thanks for the passing of 
the winter. 

I walked along, my feet on earth, my head among 
the clouds. Vague longings filled my breast, for I 
knew not what. How good it was just to be alive, 
to see, to hear, to feel the quickening life in all crea- 
tion. I drew a deep breath, and then, as I looked up, 
my eyes were suddenly dazzled by the splendor of 
the sight which forced itself upon them. 

Upon the summit of a mountain some distance 
from me, there stood a castle. Its slender spires 
were lifted in dazzling splendor to the sky; its walls 

138 



PARROT GODS 

were reflected in a thousand facets of light. High, 
high it stood above the earth, enveloped in rosy mist, 
a veritable castle of dreams. 

And straigntway the longing in my heart resolved 
inself into one concrete desire to see this wondrous 
palace, to wander amid its halls, to know the manner 
of people that dwelt therein; for rare, indeed, 
thought I, must be the treasures which so wondrous 
at castle would hold. 

And as I walked on toward the mountain I met a 
youth, and his name was Ambition. A goodly youth 
was he, who knew the way to the castle, which was 
called, he told me, "Temple of Fame." There were 
many paths, he went on to explain, and I had but to 
choose and, with him at my side, the joumty would 
be but short. So, with heaven and earth smiling 
their benediction upon me, and with Ambition as my 
companion, I started out on my journey to the 
"'Temple of Fame." 

Many were the travelers on the path which we 
itook and many were the travelers on the other paths, 
and I scanned the faces of some as I passed them 
by. Eager, happy faces they were, with the smile of 
hope on their lips and the light of dreams in their 
eyes. Assuredly, thought I, I have chosen well. 

But Ambition was a persevering youth and gave 
me little time for speculation or dreams. Onward 
we hurried, ever onward, and one by one many of 
those with whom we had started dropped out and 
fell by the wayside. 

Love called to me, with arms out-stretched, beg- 
ging to be my playmate, but my stem mentor hurried 
me ruthlessly along and would permit no tarrying. 
'•Only for a breathing space," I appealed, "only for 

134 



PARROT GODS 

a breathing space." Angrily he whirled upon me. 

"Do you see all those that have fallen by the way- 
side — there, and there, and there? All of those have 
heeded Love's appeal. They will never go on again. 
Do you want to do likewise? Look!" and he point- 
ed upward to the castle, shimmering in golden light, 
"that goal, is it not worth striving for? Love is 
for children and fools." 

Abashed, I continued on my journey. It seemed 
to me that some of the glory and freshness of the 
morning had gone, but a glance at the vision far, 
far ahead inspired me with renewed courage and 
desire. 

The promise of spring had ripened into glorious 
fulfillment, and it was now summer. Everywhere 
stood trees, their branches bending low under the 
burden of luscious fruit ; flowers rioted in profusion 
and the grass was a verdant carpet on which I would 
fain have thrown my weary body for a resting space, 
but Ambition relentlessly goaded me on and on. 

Nearer and nearer came the "Temple of Fame." 
Half the road was traversed, two-thirds, three-quar- 
ters. Everywhere along the way we came upon 
derelicts who had given up the race, who had fallen 
by the wayside in exhaustion. I wished to aid them, 
to cheer them on, but even this Ambition would not 
permit. And so ever on and on I climbed, regardless 
of heat, regardless of weariness, always guided and 
goaded by Ambition, who was my constant com- 
panion. 

Summer had passed into autumn. The fruit and 
grain had been gathered in, the flowers were fading, 
the trees gorgeous in their scarlet and gold, and the 
presence of winter was already in the air. And then 

136 



PARROT GODS 

one day, following a turn in the road, the Temple of 
Fame again burst upon my sight. 

In wonder and amazement I turned to Ambition. 
"Surely/)' I exclaimed, incredulous, "surely this is 
not the Temple of Fame." "And wherefore not, 
pray?" he answered scornfully. "The light, the 
radiance,|" I stammered, "where are they? I did 
not come for this — all the travail of the long, long 
road for this !" 

But regret was unavailing, the journey was ended 
and I had reached my goal. With dragging foot- 
steps I entered the portal and stood in the Hall of 
Fame, and there, newly graven, was a tablet whereon 
my name was written. Many many tablets were 
there — the names of all those who, like myself, had 
at one time or another, completed the arduous jour- 
ney. 

I have reached the summit. Below me lies the 
peaceful valley from which I started, wrapped in a 
golden haze, and the roads leading thereto stretch 
like white ribbons in the fading light. That now 
seems like the City of Dreams, that peaceful and 
sun-kissed valley from which I set forth on the great 
adventure. 

How many there are who envy me the height 
which I have attained ; how many that see but the 
tablet which tells that I have attained it. For the 
spring and summer and autumn, in which others 
gather fruits to tide them through the cold and 
dreary winter, I have nothing to show but a long 
and weary climb which has brought me to the moun- 
tain top, where I stand alone, for even Ambition has 
left me. Gone, the traitor, who goaded me to the 

136 



PARROT GODS 

lonely heights, to cajole other youths in the peaceful 
valleys when spring shall come and shed her glamor 
over the earth, and, alas for the irony of fate, he will 
spur them on with tales of me. 



137 



MENDELE MOCHER SFORIM 
The Father of Yiddish Literature 

SHOLOM Jacob Abramowitch (Mendele Mocher 
Sforim) who has just celebrated his seventieth 
birthday can rightly be called the ''Father of 
V'ddish Literature." True, there have been writers 
before him, but their "literary" productions have 
been of no greater value than "Tz'enoh U-r'enoh" 
(a Yiddish Midrashic rendition of the Scriptures) 
and "Sarah bas Tovim's Techinoths" (Book 
of Yiddish Prayers). Even Isaac Meyer Dick, 
who was a writer from a certain standpoint, 
did not possess that high literary quality that would 
entitle him to rank among the better class of Yiddish 
literateurs. It must, however, not be forgotten that 
Dick was a pioneer, and the work of a pioneer must 
not be measured with the same accuracy as the 
labors of those who succeed him, as the pioneer has 
a much more difficult task to accomplish than the 
others. 

Abramovitch is not a prolific writer. He has not 
written many bulky volumes, with prologues and epi- 
logues, as have done and still do the authors of 
"highly interesting novels/' because he always bore 
in mind the quality and not the quantity of his work. 
He knew very well that an ounce of gold is of greater 

value than a pound of iron, and, therefore, did not 
give much, but what he has written is of pure unal- 
loyed gold. 

Abramovitch may be rightly considered the "Yid- 

139 



PARROT GODS 

dish Gogol." In sarcastic terms he describes the 
Jewish Chlestakoffs, the Jewish Bobchinskis and 
Dobchinskis, the Jewish Plushkins and Sobakewit- 
ches, the Jewish Nosdreffs and others of the same 
type, whom he met in Jehupetz, Glusk, in Tuniadofka 
and in Beiborick. His language is as soft and as 
sweet as that of Gogol's, and is replete with beautiful 
descriptions of nature. 

I do not desire it to be inferred that Abramowitch 
is as great as Gogol and that his talent is as developed 
as that of the great Russian author, but he has some 
of the qualities which remind us very much of Gogol. 

Abramowitch is a poet of the realistic school, a 
champion of civilization and culture, and of the 
spiritual advancement of the Jewish masses. 

Beginning with Sholom Aleichem, who calls Ab- 
ramowitch "my grandfather," and coming down to 
the better Yiddish authors, all of them follow in the 
veteran writer's footsteps. But none of them has his 
deep insight, his profound psychology, his real Jew- 
ish sigh, his bitter laughter, migled with tears, and 
his unique style. 

In his younger days, Abramowitch wrote his well- 
known novel "Fathers and Sons," which is modelled 
after Tourgenieff's book of the same title. This 
work is, however, very faulty, and cannot be included 
among his best efforts, as for instance, his "Valley 
of Tears," and other short stories. Abramowitch al- 
so adapted Lenz's "Naturgeschichte," but the strong 
point of Abramowitch is not that of a translator, his 
great strength is originality. 

The subject of this sketch had ever with him his 
"Kliatche" and his "Boid," and in the course of his 

140 



PARROT GODS 

travels he always made new acquaintances, and every- 
thing he saw on the way he describes in his "Fishke 
der Krummer" (Fishke the Lame) ; his "Klein 
Menschele" (The Little Fellow) in his "Wuensch- 
fingerl" (The Magic Ring) and "The Journeys of 
Benjamin the Third." His work shows that he un- 
derstands the soul of the Jew and is imbued with his 
spirit and loves him. 

His famous work "Die Kliatche" (The Rosinante) 
does not belong to the above-mentioned books, for it 
is written with another tendency and allegorically, 
and is not so easily understood by the masses. "Die 
Kliatche" has been translated into Polish by the well- 
known Polish author Clemens Unosho, into German, 
published in the Mainzer Israelit, and also into Eng- 
lish. A few chapters were translated into Russian 
and appeared in the Woschod of St. Petersburg, but 
the Press Censor promptly interfered. Although the 
translations are very good, they cannot possibly com- 
pare with the original, because Abramowitch writes 
a very idiomatic language, the beauties of which can- 
not be rendered into any other language. 

I first met Abramowitch about eight or nine years 
ago. I saw before me a grey haired man, with glow- 
ing eyes and he seemed to me an inhabitant of 

Olympus. 

At first we conversed in Russian, but his bad ac- 
cent made an unfavorable impression. No sooner, 
however, did we drift into Yiddish than I felt such 
a pleasure as cannot be described in words. Pearls 
came from his lips, and his gestures, his mimicry, his 
accentuation were wonderful. 

I showed him my poem "Deborah" which was still 

141 



PARROT GODS 

then in manuscript. He paid me a few compliments 
and said, "Show your poem to Dubnow, who is a bet- 
ter critic of Russian." 

I had the pleasure of visiting Abramowitch many 

times and often in the company of my friend, the 

poet Tchernichowsky and other budding writers. I 

shall never forget his friendliness,. his encouragement 

-^^ sound advice. 

Yes, Abramowitch is the greatest Yiddish writer 
and none of his predecessors or his contemporaries 
have been able to mount his Pegasus. 



142 



LET US TURN BACK 

"Mass for me will not be chanted, 
Kaddish not be said, 
Naught be sung, and naught recited 
Round my dying bed." 

— ^Heinc. 

WHAT a world of tragedy lies in those words of 
the poet Heine, and what a world of tragedy 
there was in the life that prompted them, 
"Judaism," said Heine, "is not a religion, it is a mis- 
fortune," and with that idea in mind he tried, 
with the help of a few drops of water, 
to remove that misfortune from himself, but 
bitterly did he live to regret it. He remained 
a man without a country, without a religion, who 
could not reconcile himself to the new beliefs and 
ideas to which he had pledged loyalty of his own free 
will, and whose renunciation of all the ties of blood 
and birth removed him forever from association with 
those upon whom he should have looked as brothers. 
And for what? That a few people, who had set 
themselves up as arbiters, might admit him to their 
exclusive society, might treat as their equal one who 
should have known himself as far above them as the 
heavens are above the earth. 

Can we change ourselves in an instant from what 
we are into something exactly opposite? I doubt it. 
Behind each one of us are the elemental forces 
reaching back to the beginning of time, trains of 

143 



PARROT GODS 

thought struggling from chaos to order through 
many ages. Can we hope to change the ideals and 
beliefs which have been passed on to us with ever- 
increasing strength for many thousands of years? 
Will not every nerve, every fiber of our being cry out 
in protest, as it did in the life of the unhappy and 
embittered poet? 

What a child learns at its mother's knee it cannot 
forget. Can we then hope to forget, even if we 
should wish to do so, that which countless genera- 
tions of mothers have taught us, over and over 
again? If we try to root it out, we are killing our 
identity, the essential part of ourselves, and become 
only a parody of the people whom we try to imitate. 
Is it a matter of surprise that even they, who should 
be extremely flattered (for imitation, it is said, is the 
sincerest flattery), should despise us and look down 
upon us for our pains ? 

"Self -reverence, self-knowledge, self-control — these 
three alone lead men to sovereign power." — Tenny- 
son. 

Let us know ourselves, the glorious possibilities 
that life affords us to make the world better because 
we have lived ; let us respect ourselves because of 
that knowledge ; let us so control ourselves that every 
thought and action of our lives will work for the 
benefit of all. 

Why not play the part upon the world's stage that 
has been alloted to us? Surely we cannot ask bet- 
ter. For thousands of years Israel has been the 
torchbearer of the nations. Wherever, in his cease- 
less wanderings, he has made a stopping place, there 
the light of day has risen: slowly, it is true, for the 

144 



PARROT GODS 

night of ignorance and superstition are not so easilv 
banished, but surely, none the less, it has worked for 
the enlightenment and well being of those who have 
looked with distrust and hatred upon him. 

And what has he received for all this? What has 
been his compensation for all the benefits he has lav- 
ished upon his neighbors? Reviled, despised, tor- 
tured, driven hither and thither, victims of the Span- 
ish Auto-de-fe's, of the drunken crusaders' brutal 
orgies, less in the eyes of the law of the most Chrst- 
ian countries and most Christian kings than the 
meanest criminal ; accused of crimes at which his 
very nature revolts, we still find him in this, the 
enlightened twentieth century, hounded, persecuted 
and tortured in many of the countries which preach 
their most Christian tolerance as in the darkest of 
the dark ages. 

Shall we try, then, as Heine did, to merge our iden- 
tity with that of the people among whom we dwell? 
It has been attempted, but neither side seems to take 
kindly to the resulting hybrid, which often has the 
faults of both sides and the good qualities of neither. 
Nor is a person's respect ever gained by imitation. 

Surely, we should have proper reverence for a 
religion which has survived many nations and many 
beliefs, for which hundreds of thousands of people 
have suffered and died, rather than deny it : a religion 
which has produced great kings like David and Solo- 
mon, great heroes like the Maccabeans, prophets like 
Elijah and Isaiah, and a great lawgiver like Moses, 
to whom the world owes the fundamental laws upon 
which all other religions are based. 

Why do we abase ourselves because some hoodlum 



145 



PARROT GODS 

calls us names, because some minds are too mean and 
small to appreciate the greatness of our mission 
among the peoples? 

"Respect thyself." Until we respect ourselves we 
cannot hope to gain either the esteem or the goodwill 
of our fellowmen. There is a quality about self-re- 
spect which places it above the opinions and the 
good-will of others, and this we must have. But we 
can have this only if we are true to ourselves, to the 
best that is in us, and strive to fulfill, in ^o far as in 
us lies, the promise of our glorious past. 

Let us read the history of our nation with at least 
the same attention that we give to that of other peo- 
ples. There are many of us who will be surprised to 
find that it has been something more than a nation 
of merchants and money lenders, as we are so often 
told. Let us read the history of its struggles, its 
victories, its rise, its fall. It will show us how a rich 
and mighty nation, divided from within, became at 
length the prey of its barbarian conquerors. 

Can we not take this lesson to heart, cast aside the 
petty jealousies that divide us into many insignifi- 
cant factions, and with united effort strive to estab- 
lish a spiritual brotherhood which shall compel the 
respect and admiration of the world? 



146 



MARRIAGE 



"The hearts of old gave hands; 

But our new heraldry is — hands, not hearts/' 

— Shakespeare, 

Marriage is an equal parnership and should be en- 
tered into only by equal partners. 

Mrs. Strong, one of the characters in Charles Dick- 
ens' "David Copperfield," says: "There is no dis- 
parity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and pur- 
pose," and nothing is more true. Difference in age, 
difference in station, will not matter, if two people 
have the bed rock foundation of suitability. 

Without this foundation, any marriage, no matter 
how fair the prospects may seem at the outset, is sure 
to be unhappy, because a house that is built on the 
shifting sands will be wrecked by the first storm. 

For the ideal marriage both husband and wife must 
have the same general aims and ambitions, must be 
enough alike to harmonize, yet enough unlike to 
stimulate each other. If one be a dreamer the other 
must be practical ; if one be firm the other must be 
yielding, because two people of temperaments that 
are exactly alike cannot possibly agree. They must 
have perfect understanding and sympathy with each 
other's aims and ambitions, and a firm bond of com- 
radeship. Yet even all these are not sufficient if each 
does not have for the other "'the love that passeth un- 
derstanding," a love that is based on mutual sympa- 
thy and comprehension, but is far above and beyond 
all friendship, and which makes it possible for two 

147 



PARROT GODS 

people to go through all manner of hardships and 
privations and still be happy just because they share 
them together. 

One of the reasons that so many marriages are un- 
happy is because people do not take the time or the 
trouble to find out whether they are really suited to 
each other. Another is the disposition during the 
period of courtship to don company clothes and com- 
pany manners, while both seem to forget that court- 
ship is only a passing phase and marriage is a life 
sentence, in which they will have ample time to get 
acquainted with each other as they really are, and not 
as they seem to be. 

Would it not be much better if people would call 
attention to their faults and failings, would show 
themselves as they really are, so that if the love of 
either one for the other is not strong enough for 
them to put up with those faults, they could find it 
out in time to save themselves a world of misery? 
True love will forgive all failings, and the other kind 
which is only for fair weather, is surely no founda- 
tion for a happy union; 

It is not enough that a man and woman can get 
along together. To make of marriage the ideal state 
that it should be, they must care so much that they 
cannot get along without each other, that to make 
the other happy is the end and aim of existence 
for each. 

When a woman cares for a man in this way she 
will give up a home where she has been cradled in 
the lap of luxury, family, friends, everything that 
has previously seemed to her worth while, for a life 
that may be full of hardship and deprivation, and yet 

148 



PARROT GODS 

count herself happy in the exchange. When a man 
loves a woman with this supreme love, there is no 
barrier that he will not surmount to win her affec- 
tions, no hardship that he will not undergo to make 
her happy. 

Some people think that a certain amount of money 
is necessary to insure happiness, but this is not true. 
There is more happiness among the poor than there 
is among the rich, and the reason for this is that 
there is more unity of aim between husband and wife 
while they are struggling for existence than when all 
that is necessary for each of them to think of is how 
best to pass away the time that hangs so heavily on 
their hands ; and if both are not interested in the 
same things, they very soon drift apart. 

Women, live more in the affection than men. 
"Man's love is of his life a thing apart — 
'Tis a woman's whole existence." 

For this reason the girl who marries a man just for 
what he can give her, without regard to her feelings 
for him, is sowing the wind, which later will return 
as a whirlwind to overwhelm her. For though it 
may be with all necessary ceremony to make it right 
in the eyes of the world, she has sold herself just as 
truly as any other commodity, and been paid for. 
And the return which she must make, the price which 
she must pay, will grow heavier with the \c-y:^ -^^ 
cause the pleasures and amusements that money can 
buy will soon cease to interest, and only the empty 
husks of existence will be left as the price for which 
she has sold her soul and body. 

It sometimes happens that a man and woman get 
married because each is lonely and craves compan- 

149 



PARROT GODS 

ionship. But there is no loneliness so great as that 
which is shared by two. With love two is company ; 
without it, calamity. 

Thomas Jefferson, when called on by his wife's 
niece for advice as to which of two suitors to marry, 
said, "Marry the man you love, dear. With love, 
marriage is heaven; without it, hell." 

This is very good advice to take, but be sure that 
it is the kind of love that will stand the test "for 
richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sickness 
and in health, until death do you part." 

"Happy and thrice happy are they who enjoy an 
uninterrupted union, and whose love, unbroken by 
any complaints, shall not dissolve until the last day." 
— Horace. 



UO 



DAY OF ATONEMENT 

HE who wants to have a better idea, a clearer 
conception of the Jewish people, whom 
anti-Semites proclaim as Shylocks, as spies, 
as tricksters ; he who wants to see how poor, 
downtrodden and persecuted men, who are com- 
pelled to labor hard, in the sweat of their brow, 
to make both ends meet, can rise to the high- 
est degree of idealism and to be almost trans- 
formed into angels whose main purpose is to 
the highest degree of idealism and to be almost 
transformed into angels whose main purpose is to 
laud the Creator of the world and sing songs of 
praise unto Him, — should visit the synagogues on the 
Day of Atonement. 

The atmosphere there is filled with holiness, with 
glory, with sublimity, and in each corner there is 
felt the splendor of the Lord, the Divine presence of 
the Almighty. 

Calculations, materialism, all earthly pleasures do 
not exist then in the synagogues. The richest man, 
whose head is full the year with speculations, trans- 
actions, agreements and interest, as well as the poor- 
est man, who hardly earns a livlihood for his big 
family, stay reverently in the synagogue and beg for- 
giveness of the Merciful Father. 

John Paul Richter, one of the greatest German 
humorists, remarked that "a man is never so great as 
when he seeks forgiveness, when his heart is broken 
and he repents." 

151 



PARROT GODS 

He who wishes to understand the beautiful sen- 
tence of Richter, should look into the synagogoues 
on the Day of Atonement. Sublime, great and hol> 
is every worshipper there. All of them look like 
holy men, and one feels like approaching each one of 
them and kissing the hem of his "talith." Yes, on 
the Day of Atonement earthly people are transformed 
into angels. 

And how wonderful is this metamorphosis ! 

And not only has this holy day a religious mean- 
ing, — nay ! it has also a great moral significance, 
which can be justly considered as the basis of the 
whole human doctrine, as the corner-stone of all 
ethical and cultural theories and claims. 

The Talmud says (Yoma p. 85) "The Day of 
Atonement wipes off the sins which man commits 
against God, but does not wipe off the sins of man 
against his fellowman before he appeases him." 

Oh, if the entire world would understand the sub- 
limity of this Talmudical passage; if men of all 
classes, of all parties and of all religions would fol- 
low this incomparable saying, — the world would be- 
come better, purer and nobler at least once a year. 

Parents and children who, for one reason or an- 
other, have quarreled, would calmly discuss their 
differences and forgive each other before the dawn 
of the Day of Atonement ; people who sinned against 
each other through jealousy, animosity, slander, gos- 
sip, etc., would at least before this day of judgment 
approaches think of their conduct and apologize to 
their victims. 

And if men would practice such things at least 
annually, they would gradually become purer and 

1§2 



PARROT GODS 

nobler, and we should , have fewer tears and more 
joy in the world, less hypocrisy and more earnest- 
ness. 

And if all the nations would at least once a year 
have to beg pardon of the Jewish people for all the 
persecutions and the horrible treatment, for all the 
pogroms and slaughter they have brought on them, 
then the nations would sooner or later become more 
humane and just, and little by little their conscience 
would awaken and they would come to the Jewish 
nation with down-cast eyes and with hearts full of 
repentence and ask her to forgive them for their 
terrible crimes, for all their outrageous deeds, for all 
they did to her through the centuries. 

No nation has a day like yom ha-Kipurim, and of 
all the days of the year the Day of Atonement is the 
holiest, the noblest, the greatest. 

When, oh, when will all nations come to under- 
stand its real significance, its real meaning? 



153 



LUCK AND SENSE 

THE Celestial Council in heaven is all busy at 
work. 

Preparations are made to let down on earth a 
number of "fresh]'' people. They were ready to de- 
scend, but at the eleventh hour they reminded them- 
selves that they miss two important things : sense and 
luck. 

They all stood in line near the door leading to the 
department where sense could be gotten. They were 
nervous and impatient. They got themselves into an 
inextricable tangle by attempting to push each other 
and conquer the front places. 

"Order!" — shouted the angels — "don't push each 
other and don't make duck and drake if you really 
care to get sense. It is a very delicate matter and 
requires deliberate judgment and not haste." 

For a moment the people kept still. But the still- 
ness did not last long. The angel who was distribut- 
ing the portions of sense informed the crowd that he 
is at present short of "funds" and has not enough 
sense for each of them. 

"But comfort, comfort yourselves," he consoled 
them, "you can live all your life and occupy a con- 
spicious position in the business world without hav- 
ing sense. . . .1 assure you of that. I know it from 
many experiments." 

"And now all to the department of luck!" — shout- 
ed the voice of a young angel! — ^go there and get 
your portion. Make a long arm before it is too late." 

154 



PARROT GODS 

The people who stood in Hne waiting in vain for 
sense were nearer to the departmnt of luck than the 
others, and immediately they reached the place and 
consumed for themselves all the luck that there was, 
thus depriving the sensible people of their allotment. 

And the world alas, is divided into two distinctive 
classes : sensible but luckless people who are at times 
even unable to supply their families with dire neces- 
sities; lucky ones who, though senseless, are in a 
position to lead an epicurean life and enjoy all the 
pleasures that money can get. 



155 m 



THE "PLEASURES" OF THE TSAR 
A Tragi-Comedy in One Act. 

Characters: 1. TSAR NICHOLAS— a pale man 
of about 38, nervous, with closed, half-idiotic eyes 
that never rest in their sockets. He wears an 
official coat, overhung with crosses, medals and tiny 
portraits of saints. A sword hangs on each side. 
He wears a gold crown which can scarcely stay on 
his head, which shakes continually. 

2. ALEXANDRA — a fine-looking woman of thirty 
odd years, with dainty manners of an aristocratic 
German — the wife of Nicholas. 

3. MARIA — a dame of about sixty, with small, 
weak eyes. Her face is painted and powdered, 
making her look like a superannuated actress — 
Nicholas' mother. 

4. POBIEDONOSTSIEF— a bent man with a 
wrinkled face and with the side whiskers of a 
Russian under-officer. His appearance is terrible 
and repellant. 

5. Stolypin, ^ 

6. Witte, 

7. Durnovo, y The Tsar's Lackeys. 

8. Yermolof, I 

9. Neidhart j 

"Gvardye" Officers (Body Guards) and Soldiers. 
Place : Peterhof 

NICHOLAS (in anger). Oh, oh, oh! How times 
do change ! Who could have imagined that the pride 
of a Romanof should be so humbled? Who could 

157 



PARROT GODS 

have foretold that our dynasty should suffer so many 
indignities? And from whom? (Stamps his feet 
and seizes both swords with his hands). From reb- 
els, from good-for-nothings!. . . From. . .. (Trem- 
bles with intense excitement.) 

ALEXANDRA (tenderly). "Nicholas, my dear, 
my beloved, calm yourself ! Your nerves are un- 
strung, your mind is perturbed . . . (she stammers "> 
, . . is confused." 

POBIEDONOSTSIEF (crossing himself), "May 
the Holy Virgin protect your majesty!" 

MARIA (with a pious countenance). "And th^ 
holy Athanasius, too!" 

STOLYPIN. "Your Majesty! You must have 
courage now. You must strengthen yourself, for 
without you we are powerless. The Muzhiks — the 
two-footed machines, the rusty automata which hith- 
erto have not dared to utter a sound — demand now— 
do you hear, your Majesty? — they demand, not beg, 
land and liberty. And what answer can we give 
them?" 

POBIEDONOSTSIEF (in a trembling voice). 
"Liberty in Russia ? Oh, no ! We must erase this 
dangerous word from our dictionaries ; we must stop 
the mouths of all the heathen who dare to mention 
this word." 

WITTE (with a cynical smile). "You are right, 
Konstantin Petrovitch ! Russia has never known 
about liberty, and ought not to know about it. But 
we must make some show before the world, tool 
You know the government treasury is empty." 

DURNOVO and NEIDGART (together). "There 

158 



PARROT GODS 

is still enough money for gallows and guns ! For 
such holy purposes our Russian patriots will give 
even their last groschen." 

MARIA (firmly) "We owe the world no explana- 
tion. My Sasha, your honored father, or dear Nik- 
ky, always sought to satisfy only himself and the 
Church. And yet he lived until he died." 

POBIEDONOSTSIEF (with tears in his eyes). 
May he rest in the arms of Jesus, my good and pious 
pupil. 

NICHOLAS (fixing his eyes on Witte). What 
say you. Count Sergey Tulevich? Our treasury 
empty? Can we, then, make no loan outside of Rus- 
sia? Outsiders do not really know our interests. 
We needs must confuse their brains with imaginary 
and absurd reports ; and if bad comes to worse, you 
can turn to "Zhidovsky" banker. I hate them — the 
*Zhides,' but their money (sarcastically) — their 
money is all right. And if you will promise them 
high interest, they will lend you money, even if they 
know the money will go for preparations for 'pog- 
roms' for their own nation. 

WITTE. Still, your Majesty, we must, at least, 
make some reforms, in order to put outsiders off the 
scent. 

STOLYPIN. Who cares for outsiders? But we 
must have a few reforms for fear of our own murder- 
ers, who throw bombs right and left. One of my 
eyes aches even yet, from the dense smoke which 
that bomb made in my palace. I cannot sleep in 
peace ; I am in fear. We are all in danger ! 

POBIEDONOSTSIEF. We must build more 



159 



PARROT GODS 

monasteries ; we must be more pious ; so God will not 
forsake us. 

MARIA. Right, right ! Heresy is growing in our 
land; it is the cause of all our misfortunes. 

DURNOVO. We must increase the number of 
spies ; we must punish every slight offense against us 
with death ; let the mean souls of the terrorists leave 
them on the gallows, on the scaffold. Your Majesty, 
we need a dictator!" 

NEIDHART. (Kissing the Tsar's boots). Give 
us more Dubasofs, Kurlofs, Minins, Rennenkampfs, 
and we will see to everything. 

MARIA. It is said that the "Zhides" are spreading 
every kind of anarchistic and atheistic pamphlets 
over all Russia ; it is said that they preach free and 
harmful doctrines ; we must teach them a good les- 
son." 

POBIEDONOSTSIEF. Their fore-forefathers 
put our Redeemer on the Cross. This is a nation of 
Anti-Christians, of exploiters, of blood-suckers . . . 
Death to them all ! 

WITTE. From the moral standpoint, we might 
well strangle those Jews, every one of them (Durno- 
vo quietly to Neidgart : And what will become of 
his wife?) But from the economic standpoint, we 
must not do it, for it will be hard for us to get 
money outside of Russia. In the foreign newspa- 
pers, they make fun of us ; they call us "Barbarians," 
"Africans," and such things weaken our credit there. 
NICHOLAS (groaning). Yermolof's advice is that 
I should give my land to the *muzjiks' ; Witte's advice 
is that I should make no more 'pogroms' upon Jews. 



160 



PARROT GODS 

Well, then, what remains to me in life? No land, 
and no enjoyment either. Oh, great spirit of my 
dear and beloved Ivan the Terrible. What is to 
be done? What is to be done? What is to be 
done? 

MARIA. I know, my dear Nicholas, that the good 
news of Jewish heads cut off, of dishonored Jewish 
maidens, of wounded Jewish children, of the Jewish 
blood grown cold, makes you happier and merrier. 
Well, then, what is there to hinder? Have you not 
enough soldiers, or are you, perhaps, short of guns 
and knives? What of the foreign loans? you 
ask. Oh, child, child ! you are still very fool- 
ish. After the "progroms" have taken place, 
you might have it printed in the newspapers 
that your heart is aching, that you have great 
pity for the sacrifices, and all the rest of it. Then 
you remain a kind-hearted Tsar, and the joy of the 
"pogroms" is still yours. 

ALEXANDRA. No, no! It is not modem to 
make "pogroms." It is not nice for civilized p'^ople 
to fill stomachs with feathers and drive nails nto 
eyes ; besides, perhaps, it is even a pity, too. 

DURNOVO. Pardon, Tsaritsa! As an old sol- 
dier, I know of no pity, especially when the "Z^^iids" 
are concerned, for they are a menace to us. 

NEIDHART. My friend Durnovo knows the 
Jews better than you do Tsaritsa. And, therefore, 
he has rightly remarked that they are a menace to 
our peace. Have pity on them? You are too good, 
Tsaritsa ! I swear to God, too good ! I can shoot 
down ten Jews at once as one shoots mad dogs. . . . 
I can cut to pieces the Jewish women with their revo- 

161 



PARROT GODS 

lutionary "Zhidkelach" (little Jews) and this with a 
smile on my lips— I can — 

POBIEDONOSTSIEF (with a pleased face). 
We know that you can do that, dear brother. May 
Jesus give you new strength to crush the enemies of 
the Church, of the royal family — the enemies of 
everything that is to us dear and sacred. 

NICHOLAS (to one of the bodyguard). Hey. 
bring vodka, bring champagne, I want to drink — to 
drink. (Big bottles of wine, also brandy and cham- 
pagne are brought in and placed near Nicholas). 

NICHOLAS (drinking) It is delicious. There is 
nothing better than our vodka. Drink all of you, 
drink! I am the Tsar, the Autocrat. You wish to 
make "pogroms?" 'Tis well! But, Stolypin, Witte! 
Together with the arms you give to my faithful ser- 
vants, you should also prepare letters, written in my 
name — that I am grieved that my innocent subjects 
fehould be robbed and murdered. Innocent? Ha, 
ha, ha! They are certainly the greatest rebels, they 
are the most dangerous elements in the land. They 
are — (drinks and yawns) a pest, a plague. Do they 
want Dumas with Jewish representatives! I will 
show them a Duma, that — (trembles with anger). 

MARIA. My son, do not worry over it. Give but 
a sign to your faithful servants, and the streets of 
Russia will be dyed with the blood of the "Zhido- 
vsky" race. 

YERMOLOF. And what answer shall we make to 
the Muzhiks? They scream and howl, they make a 
scandal. 

DURNOVO. The blood of the Jews will intoxi- 

162 



PARROT GODS 

cate them, will dumbfound them entirely, and they 
will be as silent as dogs. 

NICHOLAS (shaking and unsteadily). I am the 
Tsar of Russia. I will annihilate all the Muzh — all 
the Zhids in my sacred land. I shall institute an in- 
quisition such as there once was in Spain. To think 
that I should suffer anxiety because of such creatures, 
that I should be miserable on account of creatures 
like these. Oh, Trepof! Trepof! (weeps). 

NEIDHART (kissing the Tsar's boots). Great 
Tsar! Everything shall happen as you wish. I lift 
my glass to the annihilation of all the "Zhids." 
DURNOVO. Bravo brother! 
POBIEDONOSTSIEF. That is the way for a 
true Christian to speak. 

MARIA. And a noble patriot. 
STOLYPIN. I will see to everything. I under- 
stand my business well. 

WITTE. And what will become of the loan now? 
There will be a terrible crisis in Russia; I see it. 
1 feel it. 

YERMOLOF. And who will appease the new sav- 
agery of the peasants? 

NICHOLAS (yawning). Pogroms? Well, very 
well ! Crisis ? Loans ? Well, the devil ! Trepof ! 
Already dead, my faithful servant, dead? A bomb 
reached him, too? I had forgotten. Ah, what a 
delicious thing is the Russian vodka! Hey, bring 
champagne! Quick! Why do you stand there like 
idiots? Already many stomachs cut open! Already 
many Jewish corpses! Ha, ha, ha! (falls down). 

ALEXANDRA, (frightened). We must call a 
doctor, quick. 

163 



PARROT GODS 

POBIEDONOSTSIEF. His Majesty has taken 
more vodka than his delicate constitution can stand; 
that is the reason he does not feel well. But it will 
soon pass. Many times I have had the honor of 
seeing him and his honored father in this condition. 
It's all right. No harm will come of it. (He makes 
the sign of the cross over Nicholas and mumbles a 
prayer). 

MARIA. When my dear Sasha used to feel ill, 
when a gloomy fear took possession of him, the best 
means of bringing him back to new life was to tell 
him of new misfortunes upon the hatred Zhids. It is 
the same with our son, with Nicholas. Start po- 
groms. Cut and tear the Jewish limbs! Burn their 
houses and their possessions, and at once bring the 
good news to us. 'Tis a pleasure to hear it ; it is the 
greatest joy we can have. 

NEIDHARD and DURNOVO arise from their 
places and go toward the door. 

POBIEDONOSTSIEF (calling after them). May 
the pogroms be a success. In the name of Jesus I 
bless you. 

WITTE (as to himself). European opinion — the 
Press — oh, the devil take it all !" 

STOLYPIN. The Tsar is in misery. He wants 
some happiness from pogrom — let there be pogroms. 
The Press — public opinions — pshaw ! We are the 
lords of our own land. No one will dare to say a 
word to us. We will answer at once "Nye uv svoyi 
sanii nye sadis," — "Since it is not your sleigh, don't 



sat in it." 



164 



"PROFESSOR" GETZEL 
A Comedy in Two Acts. 

Qiaracters : 

GETZEL LUDLOWJAILSKY, a man of sixty, who 
always insists that he is only forty-five; a short 
little fellow, with cat's eyes, blonde mustache and 
a moon-shaped head, covered with hair, half 
blonde, half white (the result of frequent dyeing.) 
He likes to be called ''Professor." 

HILKE LEMECHOVSKY, a "melamed," a schnorr- 
er, a gossip and an all-round good-for-nothing fel- 
low, about fifty-five, a bosom friend of Getzel. 

CHAIM SONSARA, publisher, a middle-aged man. 

BENJAMIN TRUTHMAN, young, but already 
famed as a scholar and writer; a man of strong 
principles and sincere character. 

MOE ROSE, a poet of about forty-eight. 

ALEX RAKOVY, a linguist and critic, a middle- 
aged man. 

TASH, a Yiddish writer. 

BUB, an editorial writer on a Yiddish paper. 

FISH, an Americanized young man, an active mem- 
ber on a Yiddish daily. 

AARON LORY, a colleague of Getzel, his teacher in 
art and poetry. 

KOM, a wealthy publisher. 

PLACE — New York, in a Jewish newspaper office. 

ACT I. 
LEMECHOVSKY (standing near Getzel's desk 

and holding in his hand a Jewsh paper.) I am al- 
ways happy, professor, when I read your poems and 

the poems of our beloved friend the Pittsburg edi- 

165 



PARROT GODS 

tor. I am quite sure that both you and, perhaps, 
Nathan Cantor also, are the greatest poets of o.U' 
century. Your style is so sweet, so charming, so 
full of sentiment that my mother-in-law (and she, 
you know, is a literary woman, being the wife of a 
well-known "melamed" in Israel) thinks that your 
writings are actually as good as her "Tchinos." (Yid- 
dish prayers for women.) 

GETZEL (with a smile.) I am very glad that 
such authorities as you and your mother-in-law ap- 
preciate my writings. This is my consolation in the 
dreary moments of my life, when terrible critics at- 
tack me and my literary outpourings, stating that 1 
am not a writer at all. 

RAKOVY (approaching) I heard the compliments 
which Lemechovsky conferred upon you, Mr. Lud- 
low jailsky, and I cannot refrain from laughing. You 
are a writer? Don't be angry if I'll ask you, just 
between ourselves, what have you ever written that 
has any literary value? Or perhaps you really be- 
lieve that your articles and quasi-sketches, the best 
part of which is stolen from old papers, gives you a 
right to the title "litterateur?" But, I beg your par- 
don, I forgot that you do not care for such little 
things as rights, and that is the reason that you, not 
having the least right, call yourself "professor." 
You a professor? Who, I pray, gave you of title? 
Your mother-in-law, your janitor or Lemechovsky? 
I know that you never studied, I am sure that you 
have no conception of science and literature. I am 
positive that you are an ignoramus in the full sense 
of the word, and you dare call yourself "professor?" 

lee 



PARROT GODS 

Let me tell you that you are quite a champion of 
righteousness. 

LEMECHOVSKY (shivering.) You are wrong, 
Mr. Rakovy, quite wrong. I heard from my mother- 
in-law that she heard from a policeman of our dis- 
trict, who understands politics very well, that Pro- 
fessor Getzel has already been appointed by Tam- 
many Hall as American ambassador to Turkey, and 
that he in his humility refused to accept the nomina- 
tion. You know why? Because he is modest, be- 
cause he is aware of the fact that the Jews of New- 
York will not enjoy their "tzimes" and "kugel" 
(special Jewish dishes) if they do not find in Friday's 
Yiddish paper Getzel's wisdom. 

Sonsara, Truthman, and Rose enter and seat 
themselves in the room adjoining the office; Rakovy 
and Lemechovsky go out through different doors ; 
Getzel, putting on his spectacles, which have only one 
glass, takes out carefully from his pockets a bunch 
of clippings. 

TRUTHMAN (turning to Sonsara). Have you 
already seen Getzel's statement to Dr. Sharlatansky ? 
Isn't it a disgrace? I wonder how you, his publish- 
er, can allow him to act so meanly! 

SONSARA. You are, I see, green as yet in the 
journalistic field of our Gotham, when you ask me 
such naive questions. Besides, let me assure you that 
I don't like Getzel any better than you do. ... I 
remember well his satires on myself and my family. 
I shall never forget the stones he threw at me for the 
bread and butter which I gave him ; but I r ' *d him 
in my office for the same reason as I need m log at 
home to bark from time to time. I wish, jr in- 

167 



PARROT GODS 

stance, to publish in my paper an article against one 
of my enemies. Well, I come to Getzel and say: 
Look here, Getzel take a two-dollar bill, and be- 
sides, I'll treat you to a nice dinner at Lorbeer's res- 
taurant, if you will only write a strong article against 
Mr. So-and-So. And what do you think? Of 
course, he will prepare such an article without delay. 
And for many similar purposes I keep him in my 
office, though I hate him. I cannot bear to look at 
him. But, friends, I am a practical man, and I know 
very well that I can make good use of such Getzels. 
Business is business. 

ROSE. Several times, forgetting my Muse and 
my Parnassus, I have already given him some very 
prosaic slaps. Once I even threw an ink-well at him, 
and the ink made his face the color of his soul — 
black. I thought he would never forgive me, but a 
few days later after one of those occasions I met him 
in a restaurant with his friend Lemechovsky, and — 
imagine my surprise — he, the beaten Getzel, came 
over to my table and stretched out his hand to me, 
making some flattering remarks on my latest poem. 
I refused, of course, to shake hands with him and 
he, as if nothing had happened, called a waiter and 
ordered an omelet. He is one of the lowest charac- 
ters in our ghetto. He and Lemechovsky are a 
worthy pair. Spit in their faces and they will say 
that it rains. 

SONSARA. I know this "literary" couple well, 
very well. If Getzel writes something, be it as non- 
sensical as his writings in general, lo! Lemochov- 
sky walks around in the ghetto coffee-houses to ad- 
vertise it; when on the other hand, Lemechovsky 

168 



PARROT GODS 

furnishes a "literary specimen" — Lemechovsky and 
literature ; do you hear, gentlemen ? — Getzel will im- 
mediately come to me and beg" me to accept it for my 
paper. 

TRUTHMAN. The funniest thing is that some 
fools consider Getzel a Hebrew writer also, though 
he has as much knowledge of Hebrew as the Russian 
muzhik knows of calculus. I will wager that he is 
not able to write a dozen Hebrew words without as 
many grammatical mistakes. Yes, he is indeed a 
"classical" Hebrew writer, as he calls himself. And 
do you know why I would also, without any hesita- 
tion, confer upon him the epithet classical? Be- 
cause he ought to be sent to a class for first reader 
pupils. 

SONSARA. He told me that he has already 
published many Hebrew articles. 

TRUTHMAN. Oh, yes ! It is a fact, but let me 
tell you the story of those articles. Some of them 
he sent in Yiddish and signed his name "Prof. Get- 
zel," and the Hebrew editors in Russia, being fond 
of having a professor among their contributors 
translated them into Hebrew ; others he sent in his 
own Hebrew and the editors again translated them 
from Getzel's Hebrew into real Hebrew. 

ROSE. I am acquainted with a very rich German 
Jew, who always speaks against the Yiddish press. 
The first time I strongly opposed him and tried to 
convince him that he was wrong; but after careful 
consideration I must confess that in many respects he 
is perfectly right. Getzel, Lemechovsky, Zeif and 
other writers of the same caliber are the representa- 
tives of the Yiddish papers ; they are the priests in 

169 



PARROT GODS 

the temple of Yiddish literature. Fugh ! If our 
readers will ignore such pen-fakirs they will be com- 
pelled to peddle pickels, herring and onions, and their 
place in literature will probably be occupied by real 
writers, who will raise our literature to its proper 
level, making it beloved and respected. 

TRUTHMAN. Oh, it will take time yet before we 
shall be able to clean the Augean stables of Yiddish 
literature. We need many, many a Hercules for this 
purpose! And where shall we find them? The 
Cerberus is always in their way. Oh, the Cerberus 
how many talents he has annihilated, abolished ! 

LEMECHOVSKY (entering unnoticed, reaches 
Getzel's desk and says, quietly:) dearest colleague; 
I have just met Dr. Sharlatansky, and he told me that 
he wants a new statement from you that he cured you 
of some sickness, I forgot the name of it ; it's a queer 
name. He offers you for your statement five dollars 
in advance, three dollars after the statement is once 
published, and a quarter for each reprint of this 
statement. (Smilingly.) He told me that he would 
crown your statement with a big picture of you. 
Think of it? Every day your picture will appear in 
the papers ! Your enemies will see that and will 
burst with envy. Say, Professor, will you ask Dr. 
Sharlatnnsky to order from me also such a state- 
ment? I would not require money from him. I 
will be satisfied if he will print my picture every day 
and will, from time to time, give pills for my wife's 
stomach. She suffers very much, poor woman, from 
stomach trouble. It is a pity ! 

SONSARA (rising.) Getzel, say Getzel! for- 
got to tell you. I want you should write a ^roiig 

170 



PARROT GODS 

reply to Michael. You know how to write such 
things. I need not teach you. Here is a dollar! 
Tomorrow I'll treat you to a dinner and a genuine 
Havana cigar. Go ahead and write. Quick! 

GETZEL (slavishly smiling.) All right, Mr. Son- 
sara, your wish is always law to me. By the way, 
where is the dollar? (Sonsara gives Getzel a dollar 
and the latter victoriously disappears.) 

TRUTHMAN and ROSE, (rising together from 
their seats:) Good-bye, Mr. Sonsara, try to giva 
Getzel a good dinner ; he deserves it — he is a faithful 
dog! 

SONSARA. I am a practical man; business is 
business. Good-bye, good-bye! 

RAKOVY (entering, hears Sonsara's words.) 
Yes ; every where I hear the cry, business is business. 
Some time ago the mercantile spirit was a factor 
only in the literary world, merely a means to make 
the fine art of literature more progessive, better 
known. The dominant idea of most of the writers, 
and even some of the publishers, was the idealistic 
side of their work, the betterment of mankind, which 
could be attained by reading good works.. And 
now! Real idealism is scarcely found in our liter- 
ature at all. It is a thing of the past, a memory of 
yore. Many so-called writers of "Professor" Get- 
zel's type peddle their pens as the bootblack boy his 
tools, i. e., the former is ready to do the work of the 
latter — to blacken and to shine up, if he is only paid 
for it. * * * Fate and circumstances made me 
a Jewish writer, and I must confess that many a time 
I am ashamed of my literary colleagues. Some years 
ago the old sensational storymaker Zeif published 

171 



PARROT GODS 

many articles against Getzel, adorning his name with 
very fine invectives, which he really deserved. And 
now! They are ready to embrace each other; they 
flatter each other like young schoolgirls ; they almost 
make love to each other. Why? Because they have 
no principles, because they are both ready to sell their 
souls for thirty pieces of silver, and even for much 
less. Literature is a mighty power; literature is the 
key to life and nature; literature is the medium for 
the promulgation of lofty ideas and progressive 
principles. And what can we expect from people 
who have nothing in mind except the mighty dollar':' 
^'Business is business" is a good enough principle, but 
we must know how and when to apply it. In the 
realm of literature, however, it should not be too 
much considered. 

ACT 11. 
The same place. A year later. 

TASH (mournfully.) I feel very bad on accouni 
of the death of our chief ! He died in the prime of 
his life, having lost his hope of a brighter future. He 
had many enemies, he had many faults, but never- 
theless he was dear to me, very dear. 

GETZEL. And I am not sorry at all. Do you 
know why? Because he always treated me as an 
office boy. I shall never forget how he acted toward 
me all the time since I began to work under him, and 
especially lately. Six months ago I celebrated my 
sixty-first birthday, and on this occasion my mother- 
in-law presented me with a whole set of Oizer Blaus- 
tein's novels, and a few of my friends from Vitroye, 

172 



PARROT GODS 

my birthplace, bought me my own lassical works 
"Yacubembe" and "Modern Tchinos" in gold bind- 
ings with nice lettering on the covers. I immediate- 
ly wrote a notice about this and I gave it to our fore- 
man to insert in our paper. I asked all my friends 
and admirers to buy a copy containing this notice, in 
Older that they should know the exact date of my 
birthday and begin early to think about the celebra- 
tion of my seventieth anniversary. Don't laugh, my 
friends, don't laugh ! Nine years are nothing, they 
will fly away before you look around. It is now for- 
ty years since I published my first poem "Ode to a 
Cockroach," and it seems to me that it was but yes- 
terday. The cockroach, to which I sang my ode still 
appears before my vision in its old glory . . . But 
let me continue my story about the notice. Our fore- 
man, showed it to our "tsief," and he — oh, thunders 
of Heaven ! — threw it into the waste basket. He be- 
grudged me my fame, the envious wretch. Now, 
gentlemen, I am the "tsief," and you must obey my 
orders. 

BUB. What! You the chief? Perhaps in your 
own home but not here. You know well that if you 
should pay the publishers a hundred dollars a week, 
i. e., four times as much as they pay you now, they 
would not permit you to have charge of any depart- 
ment of their paper, because you are an irresponsible 
person, an imposter, and they would have to answer 
to libel suits every day. We know your record from 
the "World" and from many other sources. We 
know that you induced your brother to embrace 
Christianity, of which, it is rumored, you are an ard- 
ent admirer. We heard that you were "honored" in 

173 



PARROT GODS 

different countries for your "noble" and "good'' 
deeds. We know that in our paper you are preach- 
ing Zionism, nationalism, and all the rest of it, while 
in a western weekly you are publishing at the same 
time (of course with the help of a translator from 
Yiddish into English), so-called articles full of in- 
sinuations against everything that is dear and holy to 
us. Yes, Getzel, we know your abilities w^e, know 
your sincerity and we appreciate your aims! And 
if I should have the say, I would not keep you here 
even as a janitor. 

GETZEL. But I am the oldest servant in the 
office, and since the "tsief" died, I am the next to 
occupy his position. 

FISH (smiling). I am really surprised, Mr. Get- 
zel, that you admit that you are already an elderly 
man! Till now you have always stated that you 
were still a youngster. Whom or what do we have 
to thank now for the correct statement of your age? 

TASH. Don't you understand. Fish? Mr. Getzel 
Badchon wants us to prepare for him a seventieth 
jubilee, and so, of course, it is better for him to ad- 
mit his real age. 

LORY. I am already preparing an English poem 
for this occasion. 

TASH. I never knew that you were a writer and 
a poet, especially in English. 

LORY. I know English as well as my colleague 
Getzel knows Hebrew, and if he dares to write He- 
brew, why shouldn't I write English? I know that 
every line of his Hebrew is corrected by others or 
translated altogether from his Yiddish ; why 
shouldn't I do likewise? Getzel pays people who 

174 



PARROT GODS 

correct his writings with promises, and I pay for such 
help in ready cash. You know, that I am not a 
writer only, I am also a peddler, and the suspenders 
and garters which I sell bring me more profit than all 
my writings. 

FISH. Is your English poem in Getzel's honor 
done, or are you going to work on it during the eight 
or nine years before his seventieth birthday? 

LORY. A few lines of my intended poem I can 
recite for you now, if you'd like. 

TASH, BUB, and FISH, altogether. All right! 
All right! Go ahead! 

LORY (in the pose of Hamlet pronouncing the 
monologue "To be or not to be") : 

Oh, Getzel, Getzel, Getzel ! 

I like you like my "ketzel," 

Which is dear to me 

Like your poetry, 

Because it cleans my house 

From each and every mouse, 

I like you, my dear colleague, 

As dirt likes the pig. 

You are great, great, great, 

There can be no debate; 

You are a writer with a great name, 

Lemechovsky advertises your fame; 

Hester and Ludlow streets know you well ; 

My love to yovi burns in me like Hell. 
TASH. Your poem is excellent, much better than 
your poems in Hebrew or Getzel's. You are a poet, 
but the world does not know it. 

BUB. Even now, after the "poet laureate" Lory 
has dedicated to you such a literary gem, none of us 

175 



PARROT GODS 

in the office will give you a chance to think for even 
one moment that you are the chief here. Oh, no! 
And if you are not satisfied and you don't want co 
write for our paper news items, and, from time to 
time, articles, under the auspices of Mr. Tash and 
myself, you can leave the office at any moment. 
That is the decision of our publishers, in whose name 
I am speaking to you. 

LORY. Don't worry, Getzel dear, I am always 
willing to take you as a partner in poetry-work and in 
my peddling business. At night we will make poems 
in partnership, and in the day time each one of us 
will take a bundle and go out for business. The 
number of my customers, especially among the ne- 
groes, is increasing daily, and I cannot attend to them 
all alone. I will give you knee-pants, petticoats, 
and stockings as many as you want, and I am quite 
sure that you will gain from them more than from 
your writings. 

FISH. A very good proposition for an old man 
like you, Reb Getzel ! 

GETZEL, (angrily). The room in which the 
"tsief" was sitting is still empty and it is waiting for 
me. I must be the "tsief"! You hear? I have 
already published visiting cards saying that I am the 
"tsief" of our daily; besides, my mother-in-law has 
told all her neighbors that I am the "tsief," and I 
must be! 

KOM, (entering.) What right have you, Getzel, 
to make such a noise in my office? Sit down and 
prepare the news items for tomorrow ! There has 
been a fire in Cherry street ; an old woman fell down 
from the fifth floor in Grand street; a policeman 

176 



PARROT GODS 

clubbed a Socialist speaker, and so forth. Go ahead, 
quick ! 

GETZEL, (slavishly.) All right, Mr. Kom, but 
don't scold me! I am old and nervous, I cannot 
stand it! (crying). Oh, dear mother-in-law. Oh, 
Lory and Lemechovsky ! How unhappy I am, poor 
devil, how unhappy! 



177 



! HEARTS AND STOMACHS 

A Comedy in One Act. 
CHARACTERS: 

HYMAN GELDSACK, a middle aged German 
Jew, with the side whiskers of a Russian officer, 
chairman. 

BRONISLAV WEINKELLER, a native of Bal- 
birishok, who wants to be considered a German Jew, 
about 40, blond, with long curled mustaches, a la 
Wilhelm, secretary. 

BORUCH KAHN, a Russian Jew, philanthropist, 
about 50, with a long, broad beard, sprinkled in many 
places with gray. 

CHILKA LEMECHOVSKY, about 50, a me- 
lamed, and, at times, a reporter, speaks through his 
nose and stammers. 

MOSES ZUNDEL TRASKI, a native of 
Chandrikovka, about 45, with a bloated face, van- 
dyke beard, proud of his acquaintanceship with the 
rich, and always uses the plural "we.'* 

JOSEPH MARKOWITZ, a young man, a mem- 
ber of this organization, an energetic worker. 
Place: New York. 

GELDSACK (turning to the secretary). Well, Herr 
Weinkeller, tell all you have to say about down-town 
philanthropic institutions. 

178 



PARROT GODS 

WEINKELLER (with submissive smile, looking 
at Geldsack with meek mien). Honorable sir! I 
know well that you know not less, and perhaps, much 
more than I do about our institutions. I know that, 
although you are very busy with your numerous 
business affairs, still you find time to come down to 
us, and to interest yourself in our small enterprises. 

TRASKI. Pshaw ! Such a philanthropist as the 
noble Mr. Geldsack has never been seen in Russia. 

KAHN (with a sarcastic smile turning to Traski). 
Even if your assertion is true, still you must re- 
member that you ought to moderate your compli- 
ments in the presence of the person to whom they are 
addressed. 

MARKOWITZ (to Kahn). I agree with you en- 
tirely. When a jubilee is celebrated, then it is per- 
missible to use hyperboles — then it is perhaps not out 
of place to call a second hand Hebrew poet — Jehudah 
Halevi ; a Yiddish rhymster — Victor Hugo ; a cheap 
jester — Gogol, Mark Twain ; a man who doles out a 
few dollars a year for charity — a philanthropist, bene- 
factor; a man who mentions (in a cafe) Karl Marx's 
or Fredinand Lassalle's name — a theoretic socialist ; 
a maggid who chatters and tries to combine in his 
talk theological books with Thomas Paine's and In- 
gersoli's works — a modern orator. But merely a flat- 
ter without any particular reason is unnecessary. 

LEMECHOVSKY. "Wh-wh-a-a-a-t d-d-do you 
m-e-ean? Herr Geldsack is a great phi-phi-phi- 
lanthropist. He is a-a-a 

WEINKELLER (interrupting). "Our down- 
town philanthropic institutions are very good ones, 
but they need money. The "Sheltering Home" needs 



PARROT GODS 

money, the "Hospital" needs money, the "Burial As- 
sociation" needs money; instead of money, the first 
one is getting richer in greenhorns, the second — in 
patients, and the last — in corpses. 

KAHN. Sad, very sad! 

GELDSACK. Why do the Russian Jews hold 
aloof? Why don't they help these institutions with 
advice and deeds? 

TRASKI. We also ask the same question. 

LEMECHOVSKY. I shall wr-r-ite an appeal to 
a local Jewish pa-pa-per." 

GELDSACK. The Russian Jews, the immigrants, 
take — grab all the places in these institutions, even 
the cemeteries are filled with them, and yet when we 
need any money they hide themselves, and we cannot 
get a cent out of them. 

TRASKI. Yes, indeed, sir, though it is not so. 

MARKOWITZ. It is very unjust of the rich Rus- 
sian Jews to refuse to help our institutions, bat it is 
still more unjust of our rich German Jews when they 
complain that the Russians occupy all the places in 
these institutions. Do the Russian Jews do it for 
pleasure? Besides, do we not allow the German 
Jews to use the "Sheltering Home" and the "Hospi- 
tal" as much as their hearts desire? Do we begrudge 
them the cemeteries? Nay, they can use them all 
as much as they wish. 

LEMECHOVSKY. Y-e-es, y-e-e-es, as I am a 
Jew." 

GELDSACK (with a smile). It is well worth 
while to spend a large amount of money for medicine 
so as to make the stomachs of paupers and beggars 
smaller. Such a remedy saves a lot of money. 

180 



\ 



PARROT GODS 

WEINKELLER. Ha, ha, ha! Well said, Mr. 
Geldsack. 

TRASKI (to Weinkeller.) Does not Mr. Geldsack 
always speak to the point? 

KAHN. Mr. Geldsack's proposition pleases you, 
Mr. Weinkeller? Very well! Perhaps you, Mr. 
Lemechovsky, will publish an article about it? (Sar- 
castically), will you not? Oh, no gentlemen. Do 
not think that the Russian Jews, althouj^h assist -d 
by the German Jews, deser\e scorn and jests and 
contempt from the latter. No, indeed ! Mr. Geld- 
sack's proposition, though made as a joke, is very 
offensive to me. Mr. Geldsack thinks that the Rus- 
sian Jev/s are drunkards and gluttons, and that their 
appetites are insatiable. Mr. Geldsack, like many 
others of his kind, thinks that the Russian Jews are 
natural shnorrers, beggars, and parasites. He 
knows not, and probably does not wish to know that 
many down-town Jewish families, who have become 
poor, often live on a piece of dry bread and herring, 
or else go hungry, rather than ask help from charity. 
When they do go, then charity is the last straw to 
which they cling as they sink with their wives and 
children in the deep sea of poverty, in the abyss of 
wretchedness, and in the marshes of necessity. . . . 
We do not need remedies to decrease the stomachs 
of the poor ; but we do need remedies to broaden the 
hearts of the rich German Jews. . . . Then, when 
they help the down-town institutions, and show love 
and appreciation to the poor, I say their noble deeds 
will be an example for those rich Russian Jews who 
• yet keep themselves far from philanthrophy. 

MARKOWITZ. Here speaks a man of sense! 

181 



PARROT GODS 

LEMECHOVSKY. I w-w-will wri-i-t-e to-day a 
b-b-big article about . . ." 

GELDSAK (interrupting). I will give eighteen 
dollars for the "Sheltering Home" and eighteen dol- 
lars for the "Hospital," to show that Mr. Kahn's 
words appeal to me. 

TRASKI (to Weinkeller.) Put it in the minutes. 

KAHN. And I will give twice as much for each 
of the institutions, and I do not care if Lemechov- 
sky does not mention my name in his article. 

MARKOWITZ (looks at Mr. Kahn and smiles.) 

TRASKI. We give five times eighteen cents as 
our personal gift. 

GELDSACK (taking out his watch). It is late. 
We must go. He adjourns the meeting. All rise 
and go out. 



18^ 



« 



BETWEEN LOVE AND DUTY 

o 



FTEN, dear friend, my sufferings are unendur- 
able," said Alexander Michailovich, nervously 



stripping off the petals of an acacia. "The 
question, 'What am I?' gives me no rest. You will 
answer, I suppose, 'You are a human being, and 
everything concerning humanity should interest you.' 
But, my friend, this answer will not relieve me in the 
least." 

"Wait a bit," cried Solomon Moiseivich, smiling, 
"I haven't uttered a word as yet, and here you are al- 
ready arguing with me. Supposing, however, that 
you have guessed my answer — what then?" 

"Simply this," answered Alexander Michailovich, 
warmly, "that if I am merely a human being, with 
no national ties whatsoever, why do I sometimes 
feel so oppressed — so extremely miserable — at the 
sight of my wronged brethren, my own kith and kin. 

"Why?" immediately repeated the genial but some- 
what sarcastic Simeon Ivanvich, "the Jewish-Christ- 
ian," as every one called him. "Because, dear friend, 
do what you will, you are still a Jew ; and a birth- 
mark won't wash off in seven waters, you know." 

"I am a Jew, it's true," sadly replied Alexander 
Michailovich, "but you will admit that I know al- 
together too little of Judaism. Pray, what does it 
consist of? What are its peculiar, specific traits that 
distinguish it so sharply from the rest of humanity? 
Tell me, moreover, wherein in general you find a 
basis for this so-called national bond? " 

183 



PARROT GODS 

"Your question — questions, rather — cannot be an- 
swered offhand; but, then, you know, of course, the 
breadth of our Russian character; we never hesitate, 
and always hit from the shoulder." 

"And so," asked Solomon Moiseivich, dejectedly, 
speaking to Simeon Ivanovich, "do you really under- 
take to answer his questions?" 

"I'll try, at any rate; mental exercise is not as yet 
subject to taxation, even in Russia. Well, my dear 
A.lexander Michailovich, leaving your first questions 
unanswered, I will endeavor to define to you my own 
view regarding national ties. Our nature demands, 
you see, some kind of social affiliation, that would 
widen the sphere of our interests. The thought that 
the word 'mine' is not restricted merely to one's home 
and family, lends one vigor and inspires greater self- 
confidence. This conception is usually the result of 
a higher moral development, though the latter is 
sometimes responsible also for a despotic disposition, 
a social pride, and the belief in the right to enjoy 
freely certain personal privileges without deserving 
them." 

"Dear friend," interrupted Alexander Michailovich, 
"all you have said fitly applies to men in general who 
enjoy some social standing; but to me — what am I? 
Let me tell you if you are in the mood for it, when 
and how I first learned of my Jewish descent." 

"All right, go on," spoke Solomon Moiseivich ; 
"sad or gay, be it only true, and we will listen." 

"Well," began Alexander Michailovich, "I discov- 
ered for the first time that I was a Jew when I was 
between seven and eight. Having quarreled with a 
Russian playmate, I came to father, complaining: 

184 



PARROT GODS 

"Papa," I said, "Vasia called me 'Jew,' and when 1 1|||||||^ 
answered back with the same, he laughed right out 
and added : 'You are a Jew and a fool, besides/ 
But, papa, why does he call me Jew, while I mustn't 
call him so? 

"Because," my father answered, "he is a Christian 
and we are jews.;" 

"We — Jews! This was news to me! Excepting 

ourselves, there seemed to be no Jews in N , and 

if any did live there, I did not know- them. My 
father, as the city physician, always mingled with 
Christians. I did know, it is true, a poor elderly 
Jewish woman, who frequently visited us in the kit- 
chen; and our old nurse, Pasha, always reported 
these visits by saying, 'Mistress ; the old Jewess has 
again been here.' And she pronounced the words 
'old Jewess' so contemptuously, and so respectfully 
called my mother 'mistress,' that I could not, of 
course, suspect that between the mistress and the old 
Jewess there was such close connection. 'We arc 
Jews,' father said — and we never reverted to the sub- 
ject. I remember only that I felt grieved and 
ashamed before Vasia that he should be a Christian 
and I a Jew. But my parentage was a still greater 
source of sorrow to me in that it deprived me of all 
the pleasures my playmates experienced. There nev- 
er were any holiday celebrations, or Christmas trees 
in our house, although nothing else was ever denied 
me. Therein, as I learned afterwards, was manifest- 
ed the proud, independent spirit of my mother, who 
could never tolerate a blind imitation of other peo- 
ple's custom^ and a studied conformity to them. 
Yes, the gloomy side of my childhood and youth 

185 



PARROT GODS 

must be attributed to my utter ignorance of national 
customs, and, more particularly, ignorance of our 
own holidays. I saw how others were celebrating; 
I shared their rejoicings over approaching Christmas 
festivities, but was not gladdened by them as much as 
Vasia. I remember how mother's words were al- 
ways ringing in my ears : 'This is a holiday, but 
not ours.' Sometimes it seemed to me even that 
these words have remained the fatal curse of all my 
life, as if everywhere, upon every festive occasion in 
life, I hear the murmur, 'This is a holiday, but not 
ours.' 

"Yes, my friend, this forms a wide gap in our 
boyhood. Not knowing any holidays, we miss the 
poetry of childhood with all its charms. What a 
hard life this is ! How we live, with no ground to 

stand upon It is very trying to live under 

such circumstances, and much more difficult to 
emerge from them fitted for the struggle for life. 
What do we receive from these years of childhood?^ 
What memories? What can give direction to our 
minds, and, more important still, inspiration to our 
hearts? To what are we to pin our faith? In the 
name of what national pride or weakness shall we 
raise or lower our people's standard? We are born 
and grow up, not knowing who we are; the very 
secret of our birth is mysteriously kept from us as- 
if by design. No preparatory materials are given 
us, and then we are thrown into the world, subject to 
all the whims of chance. We are torn away from 
everything which sustained and inspired our parents 
and grandparents. Nothing is told us in our child- 
hood that would in any degree acquaint us with our 



PARROT GODS 

history. Finally, we are not even given to under- 
stand in the name of what we suffer persecution and 
indignity. We were not taught to love and to rev- 
erence our past, and yet are blamed if sometimes we 
thoughtlessly renounce it. It this just? Is it logi- 
cal? Here am I, beaten and made miserable; why, 
should I not go where one can live a better, a freer 
life? For, in truth, I bear no conscious love for 
either side; no one has ever told me why I should 
love my people. And yet, in spite of all the pain- 
ful feelings and considerations, I still cannot disown 
the past. Why? What is the reason?" 

"Because you are a Jew, because you form a part 
of this suffering nation, and cannot live to share its 
vital forces without partaking of its sufferings. You 
are a Jew, and as such you unconsciously suffer for 
your people," spoke Solomon Moiseivich with marked 
emotion. 

"You talk of a 'people,* *love of kindred,' 'suffering 
for one's nation,' and the like. But, my friend, I am 
related to Judaism only by birth ; by training and by 
the whole trend of my life, I have nothing in common 
with it. I am a Jew, but what have I in common 
with the Jewish nation? Has it given me anything 
for which I should grow to love it and care to bear its 
woes?" 

"Why?" irritably exclaimed Solomon Moiseivich, 
"just because it hasn't given you anything — and so far 
it hasn't much to offer men of your caliber. This bat- 
tered Judaism looks to us to restore her her former 
strength ; we ourselves must resurrect her — this sleep- 
ing beauty — must infuse into her still warm heart 
the fire of life, a life that should bring back her 

187 



PARROT GODS 

mighty powers, place her on a level with the rest of 
humanity, and enable her to say to the world : *Look 
at me carefully, and you will see that I am not a bit 
worse than all the rest, and that I do not deserve your 
hatred ; I am lovable, and will deserve your love ; let 
me but draw my breath freely, and loosen my hands 
from the heavy chains which drag me downward/ 
And how truly beautiful she is ! See how brightly 
and boldly peer her half-shut eyes ! What a wealth 
of exquisite, immortal thought they express ! Ob- 
serve her countenance, all deeply furrowed with the 
indelible traces of her past woes. But even through 
these can be seen a brave mind and an iron will. She 
has been persecuted, and she has been enslaved, but 
never was she vanquished. She is still alive, and still 
unconquered. Let us go to her ; she expects us to 
help her, and we have no right to refuse aid; we 
daren't abandon her now, at the time when she most 
needs assistance. She has not, perhaps, given us 
everything that we may expect ; but look closely at 
her, and you will see that she is great in her weakness ; 
without rendering us at present any real service, she 
still draws us to her by her excellent past. Love her, 
poor thing; love her, down-trodden and forgotten. 
Love and pity her!" 

"Dear friend," interrupted Alexander Michailovich 
"your theory of love absolutely won't bear the test 
of logic : to love her because she hasn't done any- 
thing for us, because. . ." 

"Because," excitedly exclaimed Solomon Moisei- 
vich, "because, at any rate, she is mine ; because I am 
myself part of her." 

"While following your interminable discussion," 

188 



PARROT GODS 

broke in Simeon Ivanovich, rising lazily, "I recollect- 
ed a certain episode from my own early boyhood. Hear 
it, and then — let there be no more arguing-, and to our 
homes ! I was between seven and eight, and my 
playmate, our poor neighbor's son, was probably no 
older. We were then living what is called a high 
life, with no thought for the morrow, and we child- 
ren were quite spoiled by over-fondling. Once, and 
not, of course, vv^ithout a certain boastfulness, I 
commenced to show my comrade the new toys father 
had bought me on the eve of the holiday ; and at 
every new toy I, in delight, exclaimed, 'dear papa, 
good papa !' 'How much I love him !' My friend, 
delighted no less than myself, sighed and asked, *Do 
you love your father very much?' 

" 'Why, of course I do,' I answered. 'But you,' 
said I, smiling, 'you cannot, of course, love your poor 
mother so (his father was dead) ; she never gives you 
any presents.' 

" 'Yes, indeed,' said he, 'I love her very, very 
much,' he added, perceiving that I viewed him sus- 
piciously. 

"' You do love her?' I asked, derisively, 'but 
why?' 

" 'Because,' he answered, 'because she is so very 
poor.' 

"I remember I then had but a vague notion as to 
what may and what may not be lovable. Now I 
have grasped it all, understanding you, Solomon, 
perfectly — and Alexander, too. Of course, it is hard 
for him to accept what you are preaching ; at present 
it simply runs counter to all his spiritual life. . . ." 

"What do you refer to?" sternly demanded Alex- 

189 



PARROT GODS 

ander Michailovich. 

"To What?" resumed Simeon Ivanovich, smiling 

good-naturedly, and not noticing the former's sever- 
ity, "why, of course, I could not be referring to any- 
thing else than to Natalia Nikholaevna. But, I warn 
you, take care; she, your sweetheart, does not sus- 
pect that you are a Jew." 

With a sad heart Alexander Michailovich, having 
left his friends, bent his steps, without himself ob- 
serving it, toward the park where he hoped to meet 
Natalia Nikholaevna. The reflection that she was al- 
together ignorant concerning his descent troubled 
him constantly. He had to inform her of this, and 
especially to define to himself the relations that were 
possible under these circumstances. "Til tell her 
that I am a Jew," he thought, "and what then?" 

He recalled his first meeting with this wonderful 
girl, "the gray-eyed beauty," as Simeon Ivanovich 
called her. It happened in summer. A large com- 
pany had gathered at Simeon Ivanovich's house, he, 
Alexander Michailovich among them. Simeon Ivan- 
ovich had for some time past been telling him a great 
deal about this girl, and on entering the big recep- 
tion room at Ivan Andrievich's (the house of Simeon 
Ivanovich's father,) he readily recognized her among 
the numerous guests. 

"I knew you the moment I saw you," he said to her 
a few minutes after they had been introduced. 

"Did you?" she asked, and smiled at him so sweet- 
ly that they seemed the oldest of friends. He saw 
her but a short while that evening, and hardly spoke 
to her, as she stayed all the time with the hostess, 
helping to entertain the guests. 



PARROT GODS 

"There's no need of entertaining you," she said to 
him as she passed, " you are a member of the house- 
hold here," and, with a friendly smile at Simeon 
Ivanovich, "he is one of us, isn't he, Simeon?" 

These were almost the only words addressed to 
him, but they made him feel at the time that he was 
at home there, that he formed part of the universe 
they considered as theirs. These words of that 
maiden whom he scarcely knew has eased and 
warmed his heart. Simeon Ivanovich was very much 
surprised the next morning when, to all his enthu- 
siastic questioning about Natalia Nikholaevna, Alex- 
ander Michailovich could answer only, "Yes, she is 
very good — that I have already observed; but to 
come to know her, even slightly, was, of course, im- 
possible." 

"No, sir, you are not sincere," said Simeon Ivano- 
vich, "one cannot see her without learning to know 
her ; all her heart shines forth from those gray eyes ; 
it is reflected in them like a face in clear water." 

"Yes," Alexander Michailovich admitted, "her eyes 
are indeed wonderful !" 

Then he came to feel that her face would not wane 
from his memory ; he had virtually enshrined 
her image in his memory, and carried it away 
with him.. Two months later they met again, at the 
University of P., and this second meeting made him 
feel good and cheerful. It took place in a merry, 
friendly company of university students. He re- 
called her very words : "I do not know as yet what 
I shall do here, but I Hnow that whatever I may do 
will be well and honestly done, because I have come 
here among you in search of life and work, and have 



191 



PARROT GODS 

brought with me a big stock of energy and faith. I 
am looking for people who would give direction to 
my labor and point out the way.f' 

This bold little speech of hers flowed with the fresh- 
ness of a brook, and none thought it funny or stilted. 

"No, no," all seemed to say, "such eyes don't lie; 
they cannot shine by artificial light; they glow with 
the flame of the heart, with the sacred fire of a pure 
and free youth." And how beautiful were her eyes ! 
How. much kindness there was in them, and how 
much power! This she made him realize once when 
he had been to blame for something. How her eyes 
glowed! He shuddered, and thought, "these eyes 
can caress, but they can punish, too." Her eyes rest- 
ed upon him only for an instant but he decided then 
and there that he would stand anything in order to 
avoid such a look. She, exactly surmising his 
thoughts, smiled, and extended her hand to him, 
saying: "I forgive your error; you didn't know me. 
And now we are friends again." 

From that moment he felt that he had fallen in 
love with her, and completely resigned himself to 
this feeling. Still though he loved, and was loved, 
he was not altogether happy ; his conscience troubled 
him. He knew that he must not love her, a Christ- 
ian, with such a love; he realized that it was stolen 
happiness, but he wasn't strong enought to reject it. 
He knew all this — knew everything, and continued to 
drain the cup of bliss, poisoning himself and infect- 
ing, perhaps, the life of another being, so confidently 
entrusted to him. And time flew. He grew more 
and more oppressed at heart ; he was conscious of the 
unsoundness and dishonesty of his position 

192 



PARROT GODS 

He wanted to flee from her ; (he wanted and had to,) 
but could not. 

"Life is stronger than I," he said, "it allures me, 
and I haven't the strength to overcome its influence." 
And how happy he felt during the few rare moments 
when he succeeded in pacifying his conscience. But 
these minutes grew more and more rare. Again her 
image, as she looked when they had talked about the 
Jews flashed before his eyes. He was amazed at the 
coldness with which she spoke of the Jewish people. 
How cold and how strange she seemed to him, when, 
to his question, "Why are they persecuted?" she re- 
plied — as if some useless old furniture were in ques- 
tion : "They are in our way, they harmfully infect 
our systems, and we must clear them out of the way." 

"Clear them out of the way?" he repeated, his 
voice vibrating with emotion, "but how?" 

"As you please," she answered (and again her 
coldness astonished him), "only that we be rid of 
them. Here I accept the Jesuitical motto, 'the end 
justifies the means.' " He did not say anything to 
her then; he felt the nearness of the impending con- 
versation which would prove fatal to them. He had 
much to tell her — everything indeed, but for this talk 
he was as yet unprepared. And, with a bitter heart, 
he left her. He was fully aware that he could no 
longer live in this way; this lie oppressed him. 

"Thief, thief," whispered his conscience; and still 
his heart yearned for happiness, if but for a single 
day. . . . And more time passed. 

And now here he is soon to meet her, and does not 
know what he will tell her. But to-day he must 
speak, and this necessity tortures and oppresses him. 

193 



PARROT GODS 

His thoughts change as do the colors in a kaleido- 
scope, preventing him from concentrating his mind on 
the question he has to settle. And he repeats with 
grief the whole of his discussion with Simeon Ivano- 
vich, who did not regard Alexander Michailovich's 
position inextricable. 

"There are two courses open to you, and both are 
equally commendable." 

"That is to say," smiled Alexander Michailovidi, 
"you are preaching a two-sided truth. What sort of 
a truth is it, pray?" 

"Not at all," said Simeon Ivanovich good-natured- 
ly, "it is an uncontrovertible truth, created by your 
very position. And so listen ; you must study your- 
self conscientiously, both as a man and as a Jew. If 
you should find that you lack the courage to renounce 
Judaism ; if this Judaism has clung so fast to you ; 
then there is nothing more to be said in the matter; 
it will mean that this Judaism is stronger than you, 
and you will find consolation in this recognition, and 
bow to the inevitable. But in that case, of course, 
Natalie no longer exists for you. This is the first 
alternative," he concluded, "but there is also another, 
which is likewise not without justification. It con- 
sists in this : you must completely reject your past, 
in the name of the present and future which are over- 
powering you. This is also an honest course, and 
following it does not involve the slightest departure 
from the truth." 

"He is right, he is right," bitterly reflected Alex- 
ander Michailovich, "he is wrong only in thinking 
that truth can have a double form. But there is but 
one single truth, and therefore I have no free choice. 

194 



PARROT GODS 

Yes, the truth is one, and to it I must submit!" He 
grew sad and his heart commenced to ache. 

"I will be strong enough to reject this happiness," 
he meditated, "I shall be able to part from Natalie, if 
necessary. . . . If," thought he, and stopped, sur- 
prised by a voice from a distant lane, where two of 
his fellow-students were sitting. 

"Don't argue, no more arguing!" he heard the 
voice of one of them. Go where your brethren are 
suffering, where your family is faltering and perish- 
ing, go to them, show them the road to deliverance. 
You must go to them. Their sufferings shall teach 
you what to do." 

"He loves his people," thought Alexander Michail- 
ovich in deep sorrow "And do I ? Yes, he is more 
right than I am. Why are we lingering here in this 
bewitched circle? We should go to them, our poor 
brothers. They are expecting us, and it is wrong in 
us to flee from them. Long and bitterly they have 
suffered ; they will teach me, too, to become recon- 
ciled." 

And sadly Alexander Michailovich stole farther 
away from those noisy lanes where the ringing 
speeches and the youthful, irritating laughter were 
audible. 

"Away, away from the noisy and gaudy crowd," 
he murmured, and still lower drooped his head, while 
a new light shone in his eyes, as if the deliberate 
decision he had reached was catching fire within him, 
ready to paralyze by its brightness Natalia Nikholaev- 
na, who had quietly approached. 

"So here you are at last I" rang her gay voice, "1 
have been expecting you a long time," she added in 

195 



PARROT GODS 

a lower tone, extending her hand to him. 

"Alexander," she suddenly exclaimed, her eyes 
looking very lovingly at him, as if she begged to be 
understood without speaking. "Alexander,}" she re- 
peated, "we had once wandered from our conversa- 
tion regarding the Jews, and I now wish to justify 
my views on them. Did you say the Jews deserved 
better treatment from us?" 

"That is, a more undeserved hatred," excitedly ex- 
claimed Alexander Michailovich. 

"You are not quite right," gently said Natalia 
Nikolhoevna, interrupting him, "since there can be no 
question of hatred, at least, in me." 

"In you?" and Alexander Michailovich's eyes 
gazed so dejectedly at Natalia Nikholaevna that she 
shuddered and asked : "What's the matter with you, 
Alexander ? Why are you so absorbed in this Jewish 
question?" 

"Why?" mechanically repeated Alexander Michail- 
ovich. Why, indeed? Many are the reasons, Nat- 
alie, very many ; but of this later. Now, please con- 
tinue, as I want to know your opinion." 

"Well," she resumed "to me personally the Jews 
are repulsive, and I detest them very much. Why? 
I really don't know. I did not suppose that my dear 
Alexander took so much interest in these Jews, or I 
should have noticed them more closely, perhaps," she 
added, smiling. 

"Dear Natasha," he said, "why are you ever so 
fond of primary discussions? Why do you judge a 
whole people so superficially, avoiding a correct un- 
derstanding of it? You say you don't like the Jews 
. . . Why? Are they any worse than other races? 

196 



PARROT GODS 

Has any other people suffered for its ideal and prin- 
ciples, for its religion and truth, as have the Jews? 
You should kneel before these holy martyrs ; bow low 
before this chosen people, before the Ahasuerus, 
who always bring into darkest lands the torch of 
humanity and civilization, righteousness and justice. 
To your knees when you mention the chosen people, 
the messengers of God on earth." 

"Why?" Natalia Nikholaevna indifferently an- 
swered. "Because I don't like the Jews ; because no 
one ever told me that they can be loved. I do pity 
them, it is true, but even in this pity is sometimes 
mingled a good deal of contempt. I am never pained 
by the wrongs they suffer at our hands. I am only 
sorry that our life forces us to walk alongside a peo- 
ple which lets itself be trodden underfoot by every- 
body. It is a people incapable of taking offense. 
But tell me, Alexander, why are you growing so 
pale? Why does this conversation excite you so 
much?" she suddenly asked, glacing at Alexander 
Michailovich. 

"Go on, continue," said he, ignoring her questions 
and feeling how she was going farther and farther 
away from him, leaving a hollow sore spot within his 
heart. 

"What's the use continuing?" said she. "But if 
you want, I will say this : I am prepared to pity 
them in the name of the superior rights of the weak 
over the strong, but I cannot help confessing to you 
that this feeling very much resembles that which the 
sight of a strayed puppy excil:es in me: I do feel 
sorry for it, but, seeing it wallowing in (suburban) 
filth and decay, I throw a crumb to it, though I turn 

197 



PARROT GODS 

away to escape the sight of it greedily snatching the 
alms. Don't blame me, dear, I can't help it; I am 
very squeamish." 

"Squeamish?" repeated Alexander Michailovich. 
"And I — I am very proud : I don't need your alms ! 
I don't care to conceal it from you any longer. . . . 
No, I don't! And why should I?" 

"What — what do you mean?;" exclaimed Natalia 
Nikholaevna. 

"I am a Jew!" loudly answered Alexander Mi- 
chailovich. 

"You ? You a Jew ! No ; none of this fooling, it's 
too mean and too cruel." 

"No, Natasha," he said softiy but firmly, "it is not 
a joke; such matters are not fit for jesting." 

"How? What do you mean? How dare you?" 
cried Natalia Nikholaevna, beside herself. 

"Natasha! You know it all," he said, "decide 
what's to be done — what we are to do." 

Natalia Nikholaevna viewed him with awe. It 
seemed that her eyes refused to see and her brain to 
reason. 

"You have insulted me cruelly," she cried in excite- 
ment, "but I will try to forget it all, though I warn 
you, it will take a long time." 

"No, my friend," he said, raising his head and 
looking her in the face, "I will not come back to 
you. I believe in but one truth ; I have come to 
know it, and must depart from you. I have no right 
to destroy that which I have not created. . . . Upon 
the ruins of my disconsolate past I shall erect a 
bridge over which to reach my own people, my broth- 
ers and sisters, whose lives are as dark as is the night 

198 



PARROT GODS 

without the moon, without stars, without a ray of 
light. 

"Forgive me," he said, and walked away rapidly, 
feeling that the tears stood ready to gush from his 
eyes. But she didn't need his tears. He will take 
them where they may flow, together with the tears of 
his brethren in the common sea of human suffering. 



199 



THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 

*• }k ND that is your final decision, Esther?" 

J~\ His voice sounded strange, harsh, and deep- 
ened the pain at her heart, but she knew that 
she was right, and must be strong and unyielding. 

"My final decision, Edward, the only possible one," 
she answered, sadly. 

"You say that you love me," he exclaimed, bitter- 
ly, "and just as soon as it comes to the test, you fail 
miserably. Love, indeed ! A passing fancy, perhaps ; 
a game of' love, to be taken up or laid down at will, 
with a man's heart for tramps. 

"What is it to you that you have robbed me of my 
peace of mind, led me on and on, until my heart, my 
thoughts, my every desire is centered in you. My 
last thought before I fall asleep, the first one when 
I awake, is always of you. You say you are sorry, 
you did not know? Thought that I would under- 
stand that our religion was a barrier, and looked 
upon me only as a friend? Oh, Esther, Esther! 
Your lips may deny, but surely you cannot mask 
the truth in your eyes. 

"Religion! What is religion? Is not belief in 
God enough? Cannot people live good clean lives — 
lives filled with deeds of love and kindness, without 
belonging to any creed? 

"Esther, Esther," he pleaded, stretching his arms 
to her in appeal "I cannot live without you. I 
cannot. I will make you so happy, that you will 
never know, never feel, that we have not been born 
in the same faith. Your father and mother, youi 

200 



PARROT GODS 

sisters and brothers shall be mine, dear to me as my 
own parents would have been had they lived. Oh, 
what can I say, what can I do, to show you how 
deeply, how truly I love you? Had you not loved 
me, dear, I would have buried all this deep in my 
heart, and gone my way alone, praying- that you 
might be happy with another. But you do love me, 
Esther. Say it, dear ; tell me that you love me." 

"I do love you, Edward," she said, and a look 
of unutterable anguish came into her eyes. "Would 
to God that I did not. But, Edward, what shall I 
do? What shall I do? You are all alone in this 
world. You have no father or mother, no brothers 
or sisters to rejoice in your happiness or grieve in 
your sorrow. It does not matter to us, to you and 
me, that we observe our beliefs in different ways, 
for God is the same in all beliefs. 

"But my parents, they have been brought up in a 
land where their faith was a constant source of mar- 
trydom to them, where any hoodlum might insult 
them with impunity, where they might be robbed of 
their property, of their lives without a hand being 
raised in protest, and because they have suffered for 
it, that faith is dearer to them than it can be to us, 
to whom religion is no barrier to all the civil and 
social rights to which every human being is entitled. 
Do you think that they can look with joy, or even 
with indifference to a union between their daughter 
and a man of a faith to which they owe the Auto- 
da-fe's of the Spaniard's, and the brutal orgies of 
the Crusaders? 

"And what about ourselves? I know how truly 
you love me; but, Edward; think, dear. Should we 

201 



PARROT GODS 

marry, and sorrow come into our lives, as it must 
into all, might not the thought sometimes steal into 
your mind that if you had married a girl of your 
own faith you would have been happier? 

"If children were born to us, would it not grieve 
you if they did not believe the religion that you were 
taught at your mother's knee, and would it not cut 
me to the heart if they should scoff at what I hold 
dear for all the old sweet memories of my childhood 
days? If fortune smiled upon us, perhaps we might 
be happy; but, oh, should sorrow come to us, it is 
then, then that unity is needed; the unity of belief 
which makes husband and wife clasp each others 
hands and say with perfect trust, *Thy will be done/ 
Thus have I seen it with my parents. But how would 
it be with us? Might not the thought enter your 
mind that God punishes you for marrying a woman 
of another faith? Had you married one of your own, 
it would have been different. 

"And my parents, my dear, kind parents. The 
mother who has kept vigil over me through long, 
weary nights ; the father who has toiled early and 
late that I might know no want. You cannot under- 
stand it, perhaps, the prejudices ingrained through 
countless generations, the hatred of the oppressed 
for the oppressor descended through all the years. 
They will never, never consent. My happiness would 
be their sorrow. I cannot walk to my happiness 
over the bodies of those who are nearest and dearest 
to me. Death would be preferable." She pressed 
her hand to her heart in anguish. 

He stood with head bowed down, his mind in a 
whirlwind of pain and confusion. He loved her tru- 

202 



PARROT GODS 

ly, and to possess her he would have given all his 
hopes of heaven, and gone through a thousand 
hells; but would that make her happy? He knew 
that it would not. Had she been otherwise he would 
not have loved her; but it was this fineness, this 
loyalty which had drawn him to her. He would 
try to forget. Forget? He laughed harshly. Un 
til memory ceased to be he could never forget. 

Through the open window came the low, sweet 
tones of a girlish voice, accompanied by the piercing 
sweetness of a violin. With drawn breath, they both 
listened, unconsciously drawing closer together. 
** Read in my eyes, 

Love never dies. 

Put your arms 'round me and cheer me ; 

Hearts may not break, 

But mine will ache, 

When you no longer are near me. 

Sweetheart, to you, 

I will be true. 

Love's dream of roses we sever: 

Kiss me once more, 

Once as of yore — 

Then, good-bye our love-dream forever." 

The last lingering chord died away, and with a 
sudden impulse he clasped her in his arms, and their 
lips met in a long, lingering kiss. She lay passive 
against his breast, her eyes closed, while the thought 
hammered in her mind — *T cannot give him up ; I 
cannot !" Then, summoning all her strength, she 
pushed him from her. "Go," she said, her face 
averted. "Go !" 

Without a word, he left the room. She heard the 

203 



PARROT GODS 

closing of the door, which fell upon her ears like 
the death-knell of her hopes. She swayed and fell 
upon the floor, and a wild cry of anguish arose from 
her tortured heart : "Oh, God, help me to bear it ! 
Help me to bear it!" 



204 



WHO IS HAPPY? 

EIGHT o|'clock in the evening. The sun, which 
has burned so fiercely the whole day long, kisses 
the sea, (which resembled a large translucent 
mirror), and began to expire, shrink, and grow dim. 
The deep azure sky which had retained a drowsy 
appearance the whole day long, suddenly becomes 
enlivened, and opens its fiery eyes. 

And those azure eyes shine and twinkle, and look 
proudly down from their noble height. It seems as 
if in another instant they will burst into a laugh, and 
begin to speak. 

"Little men, poor souls, how small ye are, and how 
great your passions, your poverty ! Ye live and 
strive ; ye seek riches and love ; honor and pleasure ; 
but what find ye? — naught, absolute emptiness! Ye 
spend your lifetime in everlasting anxiety and crafti- 
ness ; and, very, very often find no time to recite your 
death-prayer. How foolish ye are, and how insig- 
nificant!" 

And those eyes shine and twinkle, how they leap 
in the air. How fascinating, how mysterious their 
secret must be! 

In a large park, not far from the city, under a tree 
thickly overhung with foliage, sit four persons 
absorbed in deep meditation. All about it is quiet 
as the grave. Not a sound is audible. 

"Sh — ! We shall all soon fall asleep if we keep 
on being silent and do not utter a syllable," suddenly 
remarks one of the party, a man about thirty years 

205 



PARROT GODS 

of age, who is fastidiously dressed, and has the air 
of a welKto-do person. 

"If you wish," remarks another of the party, "we 
shall now conclude our discussion as to *Who is 
happy?'" 

"Very well," rejoins the first. "I shall listen with 
pleasure to all arguments. Begin, for you are a poet ; 
to you the honor of commencing must now be ac- 
corded." 

"I respectfully decline the extraordinary honor," 
the poet replies, "There are four of us here; a doct- 
or, a lawyer, a rich man, and myself. Let the rich 
man speak first. Money ever seeks precedence." 

"Good, then," the rich man answers smilingly, 
"I shall take the initiative to-night and will earnest- 
ly endeavor to declare my views on this question. 
My opinion is that happiest of all is the man who 
possesses great riches. Money is every thing. If 
I have money, I have everything — pleasure, honor, 
friendship, and love. I step into my factories where 
hundreds of persons are working and I feel myself 
a monarch. All labor for me, obey me, and fear me. 
The machines work on, the wheels revolve, and each 
revolution of the wheel brings me more and more 
profit. And besides, honor and pleasure pour upon 
me from all sides. Yes, money does make one 
happy." 

"I am much happier than you," the doctor begins 
"Many lives have I saved, and that which I receive 
for my labor is given me with repeated blessings. 
Am I not, then, truly happy?" 

"I," exclaims the lawyer, "am much happier than 
you. My profession has pity and benevolence for 

206 



PARROT GODS 

its foundation. I vindicate and save people from 
prison and death. Is there a happier person than I?" 
**You are happy" the poet says, "because you do 
not know what happiness is. You, Sir Manufactur- 
er, by right ought to feel yourself unhappy. It should 
always be in your mind that in your glass of wine 
there are many, many drops of your laborers' sweat 
and blood — your laborers who sit with bowed heads 
and broken spirits over their machines, and multi- 
ply your capital at the price of life itself. No one's 
happiness is happiness when it is founded on the 
ruins of the lives of others. You, Sir Doctor, you 
too are not happy. You save one out of a thousand 
and nine hundred and nintey-nine you transport to 
the other world by means of your prescription- 
passes. You, Sir Lawyer, very often clear persons 
who are pernicious to the community. You are very 
often compelled to use your talent, your eloquence, 
to paint white the black deeds of your clients. How, 
then, can you be ha; ; 

"Do you know who is truly happy? It is I, the 
poet! 

"The stars in the sky, the flowers in the gardens, 
and the birds in the woods are my friends ; and such 
are constant friends. They never prove treacherous ; 
they never hurt my feelings ; they are very faithful. 

"If I feel unhappy here on earth I mount my 
Pegasus and up, up I soar to the heavens, to the sun : 
and there I am like an angel. If I see the sorrows 
of man, I quickly seize my lyre and pour forth my 
sorrow in poesy ; and my poor and luckless person 
reads my poems and finds consolation and hope in 
them. 

207 



PARROT GODS 

"And who of you can love as I? 

"I assure you that the hearts of a hundred manu- 
facturers, as many doctors, and as many lawyers, 
cannot entertain as much love for human beings as 
one true poet ; and he is happy who can love. I 
have more luxuries in my little room than you have 
in your spacious mansions ; for the Muses lay the 
whole world at my feet. Believe me, friends, money 
can get pleasure, but never happiness. Happiest am 
I ! I, the poor princely poet, who knows where 
happiness lies." 

The poet concluded. The four men leave the park. 
The birds, who were heretofore silent, begin to sing; 
and their melody bears this burden : "Thou art right, 
brother poet! Thou alone knowest what true hap- 
piness is. Man, however, is as yet too dull, and 
understandeth but little. Thou, poet, mayst be proud 
and happy : Thou art a child of Nature, a part of 
immortality; art undying as God Himself!" 



208 



IS THERE ANY SENSE IN LOVE? 

IT was almost six o'clock. Ruth, clad in a light 
colored gown of clinging material, was putting the 
finishing touches to the dinner table, and singing 
softly to herself. That done, she crossed over to 
the window, raised the blind, and looked out into 
the deepening twilight. 

Outside, soft, heavy flakes of snow were falling. 
The street was deserted, and the street lamps, damp 
and steaming, showed only as faint blurs of light. 
With a sense of relief, she dropped the curtain, and 
turned to survey the cosy room. It was not richly 
furnished, for Ruth and Fred had not climbed very 
high as yet on the ladder of success, as it is meas- 
ured in dollars and cents, but there was an air of 
home-like comfort about it, and about the entire 
house, that made many of their visitors gaze with 
envious eyes, and wonder what made a visit to them 
so delightful. 

Had you spoken to Ruth about it, she would very 
likely have laughed and said, "Why, really, I don't 
know what you mean. Of course I try to make my 
home home-like, and Fred and I both love it. If 
we didn't, it wouldn't be home." 

And Fred would have answered enthusiastically, 
"It is all Ruth's work. She's the most wonderful 
little wife in all the world, old man, and I'm the 
luckiest man in the world to have her." And what 
they both said will supply the reason. 

They had been married six months before, and 
moved into a pleasant cottage within commuting dis- 

209 



PARROT GODS 

tance of the town, and every evening, except on the 
nights when he had met Ruth by appointment for 
dinner in town and an evening at the theatre, he had 
always been home promptly at six o'clock, or a few 
minutes later. 

The clock struck six. Ruth stepped into the kitch- 
en once more to see if everything was right. It had 
been the maid's day off, and she had done the cooking 
herself, and made some of Fred's favorite dishes. 
A tender smile lit up her face as she anticipated his 
pleasure in her handiwork, and she murmured to 
herself, **What a lucky woman I am, indeed." 

A short while passed. The minute hand already 
showed a quarter after the hour, and Ruth began to 
be impatient. Where was Fred? Had he been de- 
tained? She had timed the dinner so that he would 
not have to wait, and everything would be spoiled. 
Again she turned to the window, and raised the shade. 
Night had already fallen, and the soft, lightly falling 
flakes kept coming faster and faster. Already the 
earth was covered with a snowy white carpet, which 
gleamed in the darkness. Through their heavy coat- 
ing of snow, the lamp posts were now barely dis- 
cernable. Ruth shivered, dropped the shade, and 
sitting down on a low wicker rocker, began to rock 
herself back and forth. 

Monotonously the clock ticked off the leaden 
moments. She watched it with fascinated gaze. 
Seven o'clock and Fred not home yet! Where 
could he be? Had anything happened to him? 
Had he been taken sick? She shook her 
self impatiently. "Really, I am getting silly. 
Of course he must have been detained at the office. 

210 



PARROT GODS 

I his is their busy season, and I don't suppose he 
expected to stay late this morning, or he would have 
told me before he left home. I will not wait any 
longer, but take a bite myself." She suited the action 
to the word but she could not eat. A lump kept 
rising in her throat at the thought of the lonely sup- 
per, and impatiently she pushed her food away. 

Slowly the clock chimed forth in musical tones. 
Ruth counted, one-two-three-four-five-six-seven- 
eight. "Only two hours, but it seems an age." She 
took up a new book which she had been wanting to 
read all day, but had not found the time. Now, how- 
ever, she could not seem to get interested. What dif- 
ference did it make to her whether or not the hero got 
the Victoria Cross for bravery on the field? She 
was listening for Fred's footsteps in the hall. And 
he had not come yet ! 

For the third time she went to the window. A 
driving wind had set in, and sent the heavy flakes 
scurrying before it. Here and there it took them up, 
playfully whirled them round in a mad dance, and 
hurled them as suddenly to the ground again. The 
light of the street lamps was no longer visible. 

An unreasoning terror, born of the darkness, the 
storm and the loneliness took possession of her. 
She made haste to light up all the rooms, but that 
did not allay her fear. 

Something had happened to Fred! Surely he 
would not leave her in anxiety, had he been able to 
get word to her. He was hurt, she was sure he was 
hurt ! Perhaps he was killed ! Who knows ? There 
were accidents in the papers every day. 

And they had been so happy! Why only yester- 

211 



PARROT GODS 

day, only last night, they had sat before the fireplace 
after dinner, he reading aloud, she with some em- 
broidery to keep her restless fingers busy, secure in 
the sense of protection which his presence always 
gave her, and to-night she was all alone, and where 
was Fred? 

A pain so keen that it staggered her shot through 
her heart. She swayed and caught at the back of 
a chair to steady herself. All the accidents of which 
she had ever read or heard presented themselves to 
her mind's eye as vividly as if they had been portray- 
ed on a moving picture screen. Here Fred was crush- 
ed to death, mangled by a street car. There he was 
suffocated by smoke in a burning building, and his 
charred body robbed of all semblance to humanity. 
Again, he had suddenly dropped dead while walking 
in the street. 

She dragged herself to the sofa, and fell on it. 
It seemed as if invisble hands were choking her, and 
she clutched at her throat, biting her teeth together 
to keep from screaming. 

A feeling of apathy crept over her. What did it 
matter, after all? If he were dead, she would die 
too. With vacant eyes, she lay and stared up at the 
ceiling. 

She had ceased to take account of the time, but 
the heavy chimes, many times repeated, roused her. 
It was twelve o'clock. At the same moment she 
heard footsteps in the hall. In a thrice she was at 
the door, had thrown it open, and "Fred, Fred," 
she cried, flinging herself sobbing in an ecstacy of 
relief into the arms of the snow-covered man. 

"Ruth, dearest, what is the matter," he asked, in 

212 



PARROT GODS 

alarm. Her slender body trembled as in ague, and 
she could not control the storm of sobs that shook 
her. It was sometime before the violence of her 
grief had spent itself, and she could talk coherently. 

"I thought that something terrible had happened to 
you/' she explained, "and it was dark, and lonely, 
and I was so afraid. But where were you all tlie 
time?" she asked, awakening to the fact that here he 
was, alive and well, and all her terror of the night 
had been for naught. "How could you leave me all 
alone without sending a message? Oh, Fred, how 
could you?" 

"I did send a message, dear, but perhaps it was 
delayed on account of the storm. We had a West- 
ern customer in town, who had to go home early in 
the morning, and so I had to show him around town 
to-night. Darling, really I could not help it. Don t 
you know that I would much rather be here with 
you?" looking down tenderly into her tear-stained 
face. "And — in case anything had happened as you 
thought — one does not die but once. W^here is my 
brave and sensible little girl?" 

She looked up at him with a ghost of a smile, 
a tear still shining on her lashes. "I am not brave," 
she asserted, "not at all or sensible." Her smile 
grew brighter, and she continued, "Is there much 
sense in love?" 



213 



WHO LOST MORE? 

IT is autumn. 
The beautiful Central Park, which, till now, has 
possessed an expuisite charm and enchanted all its 
visitors, looks now pitifully at what is going on with- 
in its enclosure: its trees stand like mourners, and 
there are on them no more green garments — their 
leaves, which were fresh, green and moist with dew, 
lie about now withered and yellow. Gloomy it is 
now in the Park, and sad — sad like a cemetery of a 
small town, where stand wooden monuments bent 
down, and around them there is no grass, no flower. 

There are now in the Park very few people; they 
can be easily counted. 

Near a grand monument of stone, which bears the 
name of a great poet, who left behind him books 
which will outlive hundreds of monuments of stone 
and bronze, sits a young and very pretty girl. She 
holds in her hand a faded flower and looks at it with 
sad and moist eyes. Who knows what is now going 
on in her young heart? Perhaps, she also is already 
a half-faded flower, and he, who ruined her, is away 
from her, far, very far away, and there, in his new 
place, he is breaking and crushing new flowers, fresh 
flowers. 

Not far from the girl sits, a young man, pale, 
gloomy, lean, and looks into a small book. Who 
knows who the young man is? Perhaps, the 
author of the small book, and while reading it, he 
forgets that he had not eaten anything that day. His 
poesy is no salable merchandise in the market, where 

215 



PARROT GODS 

prevails a mighty prose — and to occupy himself with 
practical things, by which one can gain a livelihood 
is not so easy for a Jewish poet who has very much 

misery and very little money. 

Near a tree which looks like a skeleton stands a 
small table with a large bench around it. And on 
the bench three men sit, two-middle-aged and one 
very young. 

''Comrades !" began one of the two older ones, "in- 
stead of spending our time in slander, old women's 
talk and foolish debates on abstract subjects, which 
we do not understand very well, suppose each one of 
us tell the greatest loss he has sustained in life. I 
will begin and, and I hope that you will at once ack- 
nowledge that my loss is one of the greatest. 

"1 had a hundred thousand dollars, silver and gold, 
diamonds and precious stones, and, by a stroke of 
misfortune, I lost it all, everything. And now, I am 
poor and miserable. Yes, my friends, I sustained 
the greatest loss which can happen to man in life." 

"I had a greater loss," cried the second one. "I 
worked ten years, not caring for health, time or 
moHey. And the result of my ten years' labor was 
a book, which, you can believe me, would have made 
an epoch in literature. All of a sudden a fire breaks 
out in my house and consumes my manuscript. Yes, 
my friends, my loss has no equal!" 

"You lost money,'' said the third, the youngest one, 
turning to the first. "Your loss is certainly not 
small : nowadays money plays a very great part in 
life ; with money everything is bought. *Who has 
the coin always has the say,' and everything is at his 
disposal, and all men are at his command. But do 

216 



PARROT GODS 

not forget, friend, that it is not impossible that you 
should have money again. And, if not, this is, after 
all, not such a great misfortune as you imagine. You 
will work and earn your living. An honest worker 
who has blisters on his hands, is to be appreciated 
more than a dishonest rich man (and what rich man 
is always honest? One out of a thousand, perhaps,) 
with golden rings on his tender hands. 

"And you, my friend," he said to the other, "you 
lost your manuscript. I must tell you the truth, 
that I very much doubt its great value. You say 
that it would have made an epoch in literature. 
What author does not say the same? Every writer, 
ever}' poetaster, every literary dwarf thinks that he 
is epoch making — a Shakespeare, a Byron, a Heine. 

"And granted that your book was in reality a val- 
uable one, your loss is not irreparable. A true tal- 
ent never dies. If you make another effort, y«^u will 
re-write your book. 

"Do you know, friends, who of us has suffered 
the greatest loss in life? I, poor man! I lost all: 
my heaven, my sun, my stars, my flowers, the whole 
poetry of my life — my love! I loved a girl — a poor 
girl — who had eyes — beautiful eyes — full of charm. 
As often as I looked into them I was happy. Her 
eyes hypnotised, enchanted and carried me into a 
new world, into a world of cherubim, into a world 
where reigns eternal Spring, eternal May. true 
love and infinite divinity. I loved the girl and was 
loved by her. All of a sudden cruel Death came, and 
with his black wings covered the form of my sweet- 
b.eart : her eyes closed forever, and I shall never see 
them again. Now she sleeps under a small hill of 

217 



PARROT GODS 

earth, which is very often made wet by my tears. 

"Almost every day, until the sun sets, I wander in 
the cemetery 'till I arrive at the grave which swal- 
loA\ed up my sweetheart. There I sit and weep 'till 
I lose my strength, and exhausted, weakened, brok- 
en-hearted and dejected, I leave the cemetery. 

''Friends ! my loss is as great as God and as bitter 
as Death. My life is now a continued agony — I am 
dying alive — I live dying. 

"You lost. But consider well who lost more? 
What is life without love? And to have loved as I 
loved my girl is possible only once in life ; one cannot 
be born twice and one cannot love so intensely, so 
earnestly but once !" 

It grew darker, night had already spread over the 
world. All had left the Park and it now looked sad- 
der, gloomier and in deeper mourning than ever. 



218 



WHEN WILL THE MESSIAH COME? 

VERY often there are moments when I feel a kind 
of "elevation of the soul." I forget my old 
and ever new wounds, I forget my youthful 
fancies, which sweetened and embittered many hours 
of my life. I forgot that I am a Jewish poet, a Jew- 
ish writer. I forget the present, which ofttimes is so 
drab, and on the wing of my phantasy I fly into the 
farthest regions of the past, into the little world of 
my childhood, that world which was so great to 
me. And before me stands, as in the flesh, my teach 
er, Reb Shloma, with his rod in his hand. 

My teacher has long been dead. Time has already 
bent the wooden plank which marks his grave in the 
cemetery of my birthplace. Even the words "Po nit- 
mon'' ("Here lieth") are almost obliterated. Yet 
he still lives in my memory and will live there until 
my heart ceases to beat. 

My rabbi was a learned man. He was of a can- 
tankerous disposition and would often flog his pupils, 
innocent little creatures, without mercy. Once, I re- 
member, a classmate of mine forgot a passage from 
the Talmud, and my rabbi punished him severely for 
it. The poor Httle fellow cried bitterly and his tears 
fell on the open Gemoroh, which he considered then 
his bitterest enemy. My rabbi took pity on his 
chastised pupil and wished to cheer him up a bit. 

"Be still, thou little rascal!" he exclaimed. "And 
you, too, you scrapegraces," he added, turning to the 

219 



PARROT GODS 

class, "be still, and I'll tell you a pretty little tale of 
the Messiah." 

"Of the Messiah?" we all cried enthusiastically. 
"Good, good ! Tell us rebbi, tell us, and we shall 
be quiet, very quiet." 

"Listen, then, my children, and I will tell you. 
Years ago, when I was a child, I lived together with 
my parents (blessed be their memory) in the village 
of D. In one of its suburbs, in a small hut not far 
from the woods, lived a pious man, Rabbi Avigdor. 
He spent almost all his time in prayers and fasts. A 
few hours each day he taught the Torah to the 
children of a prominent family in the village, and 
Avith the paltry sum he received for these lessons he 
supported himself. He used to go to the synagogue 
three times a day, and as soon as he finished his pray- 
ers he would return home without stopping to speak 
to anyone. Now and then he would go to the woods, 
sit under a tree, and raising his large, dark eyes, 
gaze longingly into the sky. 

"Once he ran excitedly into the house of the rabbi 
and told him thus : *It has been revealed to me that 
the Messiah will soon appear in our midst. Make 
known this good news to our brethren.' And with 
this he left the rabbi's house. The latter, knowing 
Reb Avigdor was a man v/ho could be relied upon, at 
once notified the community that the Messiah was to 
be expected soon. 

"The inhabitants all rejoiced. They breathed 
more freely. The few rich men of the village were 
the only ones who were not very happy at the pros- 
pect, for the Messiah would probably not allow any 
imoney to be transported from here to the Holy 

220 



PARROT GCDS 

Land. But the poor Jews, whose sufferings begin 
with the cradle and end only with the grave, were 
certainly overjoyed. 

"The Messiah is coming ! The Messiah is coming 1 
And we, too, shall begin to enjoy life," they thought, 
and their wan faces beamed with delight. 

"Anon there came a day when Reb Avigdor again 
appeared before the rabbi and told him that on this 
day the Messiah would come, and that it would be 
proper to meet him. 

"From which direction is he supposed to come?" 
the rabbi asked feverishly. 

"From the east, from the woods," Reb Avigdor 
answered, and straightway departed. 

The rabbi immediately called a meeting in order to 
decide how to meet the Messiah. The assembly was 
large and tumultuous. All talked, yelled and har- 
angued. Each one desired to be a delegate. 

"My advice is," one remarked, "that only Chassis 
dim should go, for the Messiah is certainly a Chassid. 
It is written in the Holy Books that Adam was an 
enthusiastic Chassid; King David also called himself 
a Chassid. Hence, the Messiah who is a descendant 
of the Psalmist, is also a Chassid, and he would be 
pleased to receive the first greeting from his brethren, 
the Chassidim." 

"And I would suggest just the contrary," yelled 
another, "for the Misnagdim are by far superior to 
th« Chassidim, Doesn't the Talmud often call the 
Chassidim fools?" 

"And I think," a third remarked, "that only Mas- 
kilixn (scholarly men) should be chosen as delegates. 

221 



PARROT GODS 

The Messiah will be delighted to converse with a 
maskil. 

"Silence, thou impertinent one," a chorus of voices 
was heard. How darest thou call the Messiah mas- 
kil? What, thinkest thou that the Messiah also 
reads those abominable books written by heretics, by 
apikorsim?" 

The conversation ended as it began — in dissent 
and confusion. Finally, each faction went out sep- 
arately to greet the Messiah. Not far from the 
woods, however, they all met, but refusing to unite, 
they entered the woods by different roads. 

"That day the woods seemed more beautiful than 
ever. Every blade of grass seemed to be endowed 
with exceptional charms, as if holiness itself rested 
upon it. In the clear, azure sky the sun shone trans- 
cendantly. It seemed as if the wood itself expected 
the Messiah, and at his arrival would command its 
warblers to sing an exqusite greeting. 

"Suddenly the heavens seemed to open and a large 
ball of fire shot through the air; and soon after the 
awe-stricken onlookers heard a resounding voice: 
*Go home ! The Messiah will not appear, for there 
is as yet no harmony among you!' 

"The heavens again seemed to open; it thundered, 
and the winds swept over the country. Some faint- 
ed ; many wept ; but nothing helped. Sadly they re- 
turned home. 

"That day witnessed the death of Reb Avigdor. 
A moment before his death his lips murmured: 
'Hear, O Israel! Let there be peace among you. 
United you will stand.* " 

Here my rabbi ended his wonderful tale, and we 

222 



PARROT GODS 

children became sad; our little hearts ached longing/ 
\y for the Messiah. 

"Rabbi," one of us asked in a wailing tone, "when 
will the Messiah come? When? Or will He not 
come at all because He is angry?" 

"The Messiah," the rabbi replied, "is very kind, 
and does not know what anger means. He will 
surely come, surely. But do you know when? 
When there will be one United Israel." 

My rabbi is long dead. But his beautiful talov 
however, I remember well. And when I think of his 
tale of the Messiah, my heart begins to beat faster; 
and to my lips comes the bitter question: When, 
oh, when will there be full harmony and peace in our 
nation ? 



223 



THE WONDERFUL LIGHTS 

I am not old yet! 
But misfortune, disappointments and the trials 
of life have untimely silvered my hair, embittered 
my soul and set at naught many, many of my youth- 
ful aspirations, many, many of my gold-winged hopes 
and yearnings. 

And my wounded heart would perhaps have been 
broken, were it not for the haunting memory of my 
childhrod davs. 

Ah, the tender recollections of those days ring in 
my ears like exquisite music. 

I recall the scenes, now gone, alas, forever — and in 
the dreams of bygone days I forget the rude, merci- 
less present — the present which offers bitter knocks 
instead of sweet dreams, and odious realities instead 
of broad visions. 

It happened years ago. 

The winter was cruelly bitter. The streets and 
by-ways were buried in deep snow which crunched 
under the heels of passersby. The frost was biting; 
the wind was furious, and the cottage inmates of the 
town shuddered with pure delight to be so well pro- 
tected from their raging enemy. 

"Tonight, children," our Rabbi said, "you are free, 
for it is Chanukah." 

"Oh !" — we all exclaimed, overjoyed. "Hurrah 
for Chanukah! We will have candies and sweet- 
meats and we're free." 

"What !"exclaimed the Rabbi, "Are sweetmeats of 
more importance to you than the study of the Law? 

225 



PARROT GODS 

Pagans !" he ended, with a half -veiled smile. 

"We didn't mean anything," we answered discon- 
certedly. Revocation was still an unpleasant possi- 
bility. 

"Well, well, go home and be good Jews!" 

We fled from the schoolroom with what I fear was 
ungrateful haste. On reaching home I greeted my 
parents and was just in time to see my grandfather 
come in. 

"Papa, dear,'|' I broke out suddenly, "why do those 
candlesticks stand separate from one another, the one 
high, the others low? You may laugh at me, papa 
dear, but it seems as if the lower light looks offend- 
ed." 

"My child," Father answered, "the one standing 
higher is the sentinel ; it must stand guard and watch 
by itself. It must not stand beside the others." 

"It must not? Why, if it were not for it the other 
candles would not have been lit. Why, then, should 
it be humiliated? Why? I do not understand it, 
Father!" 

"When you grow older and become a man you will 
meet with many more circumstances in life, even 
harder to understand. But, child mine, there is no 
help for it, no remedy. Our whole life is one great 
question ; it is a riddle impossible to solve" . . . 

"And say, Grandpa, will you tell me a nice story 
for Chanukah?" 

"Surely, my dear lad, come hither, set thee by me 
and thou shalt hear." 

I sat down with him and he began. 

"A long, long time ago, when I was but a child 
like thou art now, I loved the Chanukah days dearly, 



226 



PARROT GODS 

even as thou dost. Once upon just such an occasion 
we all sat passing our time pleasantly together. The 
candles burned, calm and holy, and my father (bless- 
ed be his memory), related the story of the old 
Mattathias and his mighty son, Judas Maccabaeus, 
who laid down his life in behalf of the glorious cause 
of the nation. In the next house we heard the voice 
of our neighbor, the captain, in what seemed to be a 
rather heated discussion, for the army is the army 
the world over, with its fiery stimulus and stimulants 
alike. 

"Suddenly one of the captain's guests turned to 
him and said, *I noticed thorugh the thin door of that 
Jew's house a whole regiment of strange candle 
lights burning like blazes. It's the first time I have 
seen a thing of that kind. Come on, Captain, let's 
fetch them over here; we can use them.' 

" 'Bravo ! Come on !' the company cried uproar- 
iously. 'Let's go over to the Jew and get them.' 

"The whole company swaggered in upon our 
peaceful circle, shouting and. singing, seizing the 
lights and carrying them away in drunken triumph. 

"So quickly was this done that my frail mother 
swooned, the children shrieked from sheer fright and 
my father was appalled. 

"Rising soon, however, he seized a glass of water, 
knelt besides my mother and as he loosened her 
collar, called out tearfully : 'Rivkele, dearest mine, 
dost thou feel better?' 

"He sprinkled cold water upon her. She opea:d 
her eyes. His cheeks were wet, his look gloomy. 

" *Alas !' he sighed. 'Can tears avail where the fist 
rules?' ... 

227 



PARROT GODS 

"The captain, however, heeded nothing, but took 
the candles and placed them on the floor of his house 
near the door. 

"The house of the officer was cheerfully illumin- 
ated. 

"His guests ate and drank, sang and capered, while 
his own thick tallow candles seemed to flicker ag- 
gressively on the floor. And they seemed to hold a 
fiery converse wih each other, as if jubilantly saying: 
*Ha, ha! See what shining candles our master has 
brought. It seems they are made of "different mate- 
rial than we. They are lean, insignificant, and thev 
burn feebly. One can hardly see their flame. Ha, 
ha, soon little candles, your end will come, and our 
master will order servant Peter to throw you into thi 
ash heap. But we — we rule here, peerless, on the 
captain's table.' 

"But the little Chanukah lights suddenly burst into 
a fine brilliancy, while the large tallow candles were 
on the point of going out, emitting a foul odor with 
their last dying breath. 

"And the Chanukah lights gleamed brighter and 
brighter and a few minutes later shone with such 
mellov/ vigor as to peculiarly attract the attention of 
the captain and his guests. 

" 'What the devil is the matter wth those Jews' 
candle-lights, anyhow?' exclaimed Captain Ivan, an- 
noyed. * 

" 'Your large candle-sticks,' began the Chanukah 
lights, sturdily, 'have insulted us. They forgot that 
they were made of swine fat, and that they burn in 
houses where intoxication alone revels.' 

" 'But we candle-lights, we are wholly different, 

228 



PARROT GODS 

for we stand to remind our people of a sacred time 
that was. We burn for a time, when Jewish heroes 
sacrificed their lives for God, freedom, purity, lofty- 
ideals, sublime doctrines and holy traditions.' 

" *Thou, Ivan, hast insulted us by taking us from 
our peaceful abode into the foul den that is thine. 
Thy vulgar and snobbish lights have mocked us. And 
how long did they endure? Thy thick candles are 
no more, there is no trace of them .... 

'"And we?— 

" 'We still burn, and we will outlive many, many 
such as these . . .' 

"And the Chanukah lights began to flare upward?, 
and the room was lighted by an unusual fire. 

" 'These Jewish things will make a conflagration 
yet,' one of the guests called out in warning ; 'call the 
Jew and make him take back his goods.' 

"The captain came to us, gruffly bidding my father 
take the candles back. 

"Wy father went instantly and brought back our 
beloved Chanukah lights, and the house was bright 
and joyous once more." 

"Grandpa, dear Grandpa," I cried breathlessly, af- 
ter hearing- the conclusion, "whv do we not see such 
wonderful candle-lights now?" 

"Now, my child," replied my grandfather, "now 
is a different time — other lights . . . 

"Miracles are now scarce . . . 

"But if thou desires to be a good Jew thou must 
always remember the message of these wonderful 
candle-lights," and if such thoughts burn in thy lit- 
tle heart, thou wilt never forget the Feast of Chan- 
ukah and always remember the heroic Maccabeans 

229 



PARROT GODS 

who nobly fought for their nation against such over- 
whelming numbers." 

:{: 9|c :): H< ^c :|c 

My dear old grandsire has been long dead. He is 
but a memory. But his wise words are with me still, 
and they will burn in my heart like the constant 
Temple light. 

And only in the recesses of my dark and gloomy 
grave will my heart, my burning and stormy heart, 
grow cold, and find a rest, an eternal peaceful rest. 



230 



HERSCHEL 

"The Baal-Tzdokohi" 

A Folk Tale. 

HIS true name was Herschel, but he was better 
known in the village by his nickname "Her- 
schel Galach/' He was a cotton-batting-mak- 
er, and from this business he eked out a somewhat 
precarious existence. He was a plain worker, not at all 
a scholar; but he did know how to pray and how to 
recite the Psalms of David. However, he was a 
Baal-tzdokoh ; for he was given over heart and soul 
to anything which was related to charity. 

He was a poor laborer, saddled with a large family, 
who could not himself afiford to give large donations 
for the poor. Despite this handicap, he wished at 
least to be a "Sheliach Mitzvah;"^ therefore he used 
to go around the village and collect offerings from 
the other inhabitants. Every Thursday — even in 
inclement weather — he was in the habit of deserting 
his workshop, and with a kerchief in his hand, he 
used to make the round of the village, going from 
house to house and from store to store in order to 
scrape together a reasonable sum for the poor wid- 
ows and the unhappy orphans for the Sabbath. His 
nickname "the Galach" was acquired by him through 
an incident which occurred while on one of these 
praiseworthy excursions. 

On a certain Thursday, Herschel was making his 

(i) Herschel, "The Benefactor". 

(2) Herschel, "The Priest" 

(3) In this case, these two Hebrew words may be translated as meaa- 

inff "tlie unpaid distributor of the donations of other people." 

281 



PARROT GODS 

usual rounds in the village. The day was cold, 
rainy, and disagreeable. The market-place was 
empty, not a soul was in sight. The storekeepers 
were standing in their doorways eagerly awaiting the 
arrival of a customer. The cotton-batting-maker went 
about from store to store as usual, but he felt in- 
stinctively that he was not collecting the ordinary 
amount. This fact caused him to feel very sorrow- 
ful; for it meant that a few of the poor and the sick 
whom he supplied would not receive anything for the 
Sabbath. It was in such a worried and care-worn 
mood that he entered a large store in order to secure 
his usual offering. 

There were no customers in the store, and the 
salesmen were lolling around without anything to do. 
When Herschel entered, they decided to have some 
fun with him. Whereupon one said to him, "Your 
kerchief is not so well-filled today, Reb Herschel. 
It's really a pity." 

"Not so bad," broke in a second, "I'll wager there's 
a hundred dollars there already." 

"Perhaps it's too heavy for you, Reb Herschel," 
said another mockingly, "I'll help you carry your 
money." 

In this manner the salesmen continued to joke 
with him!, but the cotton-batting-maker merely smiled, 
for he was already well-accustomed to these mockers. 
In the meantime the village priest entered the store. 
On seeing that all were mocking the Jew, he also 
decided to share in the sport, and he called out: 

"Herschel, do you want to earn a five-dollar gold- 
piece for your poor? If so, then listen to me. I 
shall give you the gold-piece if you will put on my 

232 



PARROT GODS 

cassock and go all around the market-place past all 
the stores You will get the whole five dol- 
lars if you will do it " 

The salesmen began to laugh and the priest great- 
ly enjoyed his display of cleverness. 

"Do you really mean to give me the five-dollar 
gold-piece, little Father,?' asked Herschel with a 
smile, "or are you merely joking?" 

"Oh surely," answered the priest. "Fm in earnest, 
and if you don't believe me, FU place the five dollars 
in the hands of anyone of those present." 

When the Jew saw that the priest really meant to 
spend five dollars for the sake of the joke, he accept- 
ed the challenge without any delay. The priest 
pulled off his cassock and Herschel donned it. He 
tightened the broad girdle around his middle, raised 
the high collar into position, gathered the broad folds 
of the cassock in priest-like fashion, and strode 
forth into the market-place. The salesmen in the 
store almost split their sides with laughter, but the 
cotton-batting-maker paid no attention to them. 

The store-keepers, on seeing a priest in his cassock 
strolling into the market-place, thought that he 
doubtless wanted to buy something, and thereupon 
each one began to urge him to enter into his store. 
But the 'priest' answered them innocently in Jewish, 
"Don't you recognize me? It's I, Herschel." 

On recognizing the cotton-batting-maker, the store- 
keepers were astounded. 

"What's happened? ..... What's going on 
here? Has the poor man lost his wits? 

233 



PARROT GODS 

Or, God forbid, has he become a Meshu- 

mod ? )" 

Pandemonium reigned in the market-place 

People rushed up to get a look at the strange spriest* 
and to ridicule him. Little children pulled the 
*Galach' along by the folds of his cassock and fol- 
lowed him with loud cries of derision and with 
shrieks of mocking laughter. But the cotton-batting- 
maker, with a smile upon his serene features, strolled 
quietly along until he returned to the store whence 
he had set forth. There he pulled off the cassock, 
received the promised gold-piece, and full of joy at 
his extraordinary luck, he hastened off to his poor 
and sick. After this incident the cotton-batting-mak- 
er was nicknamed 'the Galach' and he bore the name 
all his life. 

Many, many years have passed since this oc- 
currence. Herschel Galach has long since died, and 
the people in the town have almost forgotten that 
such a person ever existed. When the new railroad 
was being built through the town, it was discovered 
that it would be necessary to tear down part of the 
old cemetery in order to permit the line to go 
through the town. It was impossible to oppose this 
decision of the engineers; for it was so ordered by 
the Tsar's ukase. Therefore, it was necessary to 
rebury the dead in another place, and the grave-dig- 
gers immediately set to work to dig out the old 
graves. 

At last, they arrived at an old, dilapidated grave. 
The wooden monument had long since rotted to 
pieces and had sunk deep into the ground ; the letters 

(1) An apostate 

234 



PARROT GODS 

were so effaced that it was entirely impossible to read 
the *here lieth/ But when the grave-diggers had 
finally opened the grave, they were dumbfounded 

with astonishment and with awe Wonder 

of wonders ! The dead man was entirely whole, not 
a hair of his head had been touched; the "Tach- 
richim^ " were white and brand-new as if the corpse 
had been buried but yesterday. 

When the elders of the town came to the grave and 
looked at the body, they immediately recognized 
Herschel the cotton-batting-maker. They related the 

tale of the cotton-batting-make/ and the priest, and It 
soon became clear to all present that over the body 
which had worn the Galach's cassock, the worms 
had no power. 

(1) Barial Clothes 



235 



THE SAINT AND THE SINNER 
THE SAINT 

AS a child he had never dirtied his hands as 
other children. His curls were always in order, 
his cothes unruffled and unsoiled. He was a 
"good child," as his mother remarked with pride, and 
his elders always pointed him out as an example <o 
other children, who had an unfortunate propensity 
for getting themselves soiled, dirty, and generally 
dishevelled. 

Had he any faults? I, his chronicler, who have 
questioned the oldest inhabitant of his native town, 
have failed to elicit any information that would in the 
slightest degree dim the brightness of that radiant 
sun. 

As he grew older, in spite of the adage that the 
good die young, he still continued to illuminate the 
path of rectitude. 

At school, at college, everywhere he went, nothing 
but praise in fullest measure was accorded him by 
the teachers and elders. That young people of his 
own age did not get along well with him was pointed 
out as proof conclusive of his superior rectitude, and 
their murmurings as to lessons stolen, and various 
other little matters, which make a youth anathema 
among his fellows, all these were put down as natural 
jealousy of his greatness. 

Time passed. He went into business and pros- 
pered, married a young and tender maiden, and 
reared a family of sons and daughters. He attended 

237 



PARROT GODS 

religious services regularly, and contributed toward 
the enlightenment of the heathen. 

Was there a rumor here and there that all was not 
as it should be, that he was only a whited sepulchre? 
Who has not heard these rumors about every suc- 
cessful man? 

And at length, when the sum of his days was full, 
he passed away, and was laid to rest among his 
Fathers. 

What a eulogy was spoken over that grave, what 
panegyrics delivered to the character of the dead. 

And the soul which had departed from the body 
took flight, and knocked at the gates of the Eternal 
Kingdom. 

THE SINNER 

He had been just an ordinary baby; happy and 
healthy and dirty, so very dirty. His hands and face 
could never be kept clean, his clothes were soiled and 
ruffled, and he was a constant care. He was a 
naughty boy, and was always being scolded for some 
childish misdemeanor, yet who could help being con- 
quered when he said penitently and with such a 
cherubic smile, "I'll be a good boy, muvver, honest 
I will." 

At school and at college he was the same cheerful, 
happy-go-lucky chap, whom the teachers and pro- 
fessors were always reprimanding and over whom 
they would shake their heads dolefully and predict 
some sorry end. 

He went into business, but success was long in 
coming, and in course of time, he married. Children 
came to brighten his home, but never much money. 

238 



PARROT GODS 

Some said that he was shiftless and did not give his 
work the proper attention, some that he was too 
much of a "good fellow," but whatever the cause, it 
is certain that he was never overburdened with too 
much of the world's goods. 

Another thing which his detractors held against 
him was that he seldom attended a house of worship. 
The enlightenment of the unwashed heathen did not 
trouble him in the least, and more than once one of 
his neighbors, filled with religious zeal, would take 
him to task for his wilful neglect of all things spirit- 
ual. 

Time passed. His children were already grown, 
some of them married, when he was cut down by the 
scythe of the grim reaper, and amid the sorrow and 
tears of his loved ones, he was laid to rest. 

And the soul which had departed from the body 
took flight, and knocked at the gates of the Eternal 
Kingdom. 

BEFORE THE GATES 

The saint and the sinner stood before the gates of 
the Eternal Kingdom, asking for admission. 
"What have you done, O Soul?" asked the angel at 
the gate , of the saint, "that you should be admitted to 
Heaven," and the saint answered telling of all his vir- 
tues, his piety, and enlarging on his rectitude in the 
eyes of all men. 

"And what have you done, O Soul?" asked the 
angel of the sinner, "that you should be admitted to 
Heaven?" The sinner shook his head sorrowfully 
and answered, "Good angel, I know not of any good 
deeds I have done, but of your kindness, I beg you 

239 



PARROT GODS 

will let me enter. I have had a weary journey, and 
fain would rest.'* 

The angel of the gate summoned both souls before 
the Recording Angel, who opened his book. He 
looked up the record of the saint, and gazed at him 
in surprise, for the fair white page was covered over 
with black, ugly blots. Greed, avarice, envy, hatred 
had left their marks there. Over and over again did 
the record showed traces of tyrannical oppression of 
those weaker than himself, of whole families reduced 
to poverty that he might have more with which to 
buy indulgence for himself from the charity of the 
church. 

Sternly the angel pointed to the gate. "Get thee 
hence, thou great sinner, and pray everlastingly that 
thy sins may be forgiven." And an attendant angel 
led him away to the path which goes down to Hell. 

Again the Recording Angel turned the pages until 
he came to the record of the sinner, and again he start- 
ed in surprise. Faults there were, and many, but how 
the virtues crowded each other to off-set them. 
Kindness, charity, love of his fellows, all these were 
written fair on the parchment, which showed many 
deeds of self-denial, that he might help others less 
fortunate than himself. And the angel opened the 
gate and said gently, "Enter, O Soul, into thy king- 
dom. Here thou may'st rest in peace." 



240 



IF THE BENCHES COULD TALK 

EXHAUSTED and weary with the day's work at 
my writing desk — the place that takes from me 
daily a little life-blood, a little marrow, a little 
strength — I left my small room and went out into the 
street. 

When the day is fine and Nature is joyous and pleas- 
ing, I love the out-doors dearly ; for then I can clearly 
see the broad, deep heavens — which I can scarcely see 
from my window, the outlook from which is obstruct- 
ed by a large tenement house. To look up to the sky 
is to me one of the keenest of pleasures. As for the 
earth, I am often disgusted with it, for the people who 
move about on it make it unsightly in my eyes ; and 
I look upon it then with hatred and with contempt. 
But of the sky, I am usually very fond. It comes 
close, very close, to my heart and to my soul — al- 
thought it is so very, very far from me. But that is 
not to the point. 

When I left the house, it was already nine o'clock 
in the evening. The air was still, soft and pure — as 
if sifted through. The sky was white for the most 
part, with a delicate blue in places ; it looked like a 
white silk gown trimmed with blue. Slowly the moon 
came sailing out upon the boundless horizon, and 
threw bits of silver upon all things on which its gaze 
fell. The stars moved above the moon, as gallant 
cavaliers do about a pretty girl, and "made 
eyes" at her. In a somewhat dreamy mood, I walked 
to Jackson Street Park, which is not far from my 
abode, and finding a seat near the river, sat down. 

241 



PARROT GODS 

On a bench not for from me sat an elderly woman 
of about sixty-five leaning upon a girl of about twen- 
ty, who was pale, without a drop of blood in her thin 
and sunken cheeks, and who spoke softly and sighed. 

Oh ! if the bench on which they sit could but speak, 
it would perhaps tell us a whole tragedy — a tragedy 
begun in Russia at the time of the "Pogroms," and 
which is continued here on the top floor of a tene- 
ment house in Cherry street, and in a pest-breeding, 
dirty shop where many lives are being shortened, 
where many human flowers are decaying in the midst 
of their bloom, where many young and innocent 
hearts wither. 

Upon a second bench sits a girl, a blond with fine 
blue eyes, and near her, a pale young man with a beau- 
tiful expression on his face and with a pair of eyes 
through which looks out a lofty and noble soul. The 
young man sits with his head bent, in silence. She, 
too, is silent; she says not a word, but how much 
their silence says, how very much. If the bench up- 
on which this pair sit — perhaps very often — if it 
could but speak, we might learn a very sad story — a 
story that could rend the heart, embitter life and 
force one to insanity or to suicide. We might learn 
that the girl had promised eternal love and loyalty to 
the young man, and he, the fool, had believed and 
hoped, hoped and believed, and with the whole fire of 
his noble nature, with all the strength of his lofty 
soul, had devoted himself to her more and more. For 
her he had bent his pride and stilled in his heart the 
strong will. 

And she — she, while vowing that she loved him, is 
thinking of another, of one not worthy to be his 

242 



PARROT GODS 

slave, one who does not possess a hundredth part of 
his noble feelings, of his rich and poetic thoughts. 

But he had become aware of it all, and to-day he 
had invited her for the last time. To-day he wants 
to say to her — the betrayer, the false, the modern 
Delilah — his last good-bye. He wants to thank her 
for her false kisses, for her betrayer's dealings with 
him, for everything — everything. He wants to know 
nothing more of her. He does not wish to soil the 
most sacred depths of his heart with such impurity as 
hers. He must needs tear out of his heart his love 
for her — even if by so doing he must tear his flesh 
out with it and must make his heart bleed. 

Upon a third bench sits a young man of twenty odd 
years reading a pamphlet. He is pale, his eyes are 
dimmed and darked and ringed. Oh ! if the bench 
upon which he sits could but speak, we should come 
to know that this young man is a poet — a poet who is 
a genuine lover of the muse which has given him 
"Parnassus," but not a living. We should come to 
know that this poetic prince — this eagle who reaches 
the blue skies and who adorns his head with a wreath 
of stars — cannot crawl like a worm, cannot cringe 
and bend, cannot flatter and fawn, cannot lie and be- 
tray ; he suffers as thousands of his human kind to- 
gether could suffer. 

On a fourth bench sits an old man whose sunken 
face is framed in a beautiful silver-white beard, and 
whose eyes still glow with a younthful fire. Each 
wrinkle on his face means an additional cloud — a 
small serpent as it were — in his life; and upon his 
colorless lips there hovers a kind of smile in which 
one might see at once a desperation, a contempt for, 

243 



PARROT GODS 

and an indifference to life. If the bench on which he 
sits could talk, it would perhaps tell us his sad bio- 
graphy. We should then learn that this old man was 
born in Russia, where he had spent many happy 
years, where he had won a modest competence and 
a good name. He had lived in Kovno with his good 
wife, who was a model of kindness, of sympathy and 
of quiet modesty. 

Five years ago his wife died and his only son, who 
has lived in America for the last ten years, and who 
is quite well-to-do, wrote that his father should come 
to him, that in his house his father would feel as if 
he were in his very own. It was hard for the old 
man to part with his home, to leave his native city 
where he had spent his childhood, where he had 
grown up, where he had learned and dreamed; and 
still harder was it for him to part with that little 
mound of earth, the grave that enclosed his wife, his 
good and noble wife. 

But the thought that he would be with his only 
son, v/hom he had not seen for so long, had given 
him courage to leave his old home. And he came to 
America. His son had received him very well ; his son's 
wife, too, had shown him much respect. At first, 
the old man felt quite happy, and often times when 
his little grandson sat on his lap and pulled his gray 
beard, murmuring in his sweet and childish language, 
"Grandpa's whiskers," the old man greatly rejoiced 
in it all. 

But his pleasure was not for long. From a talk 
which he had with his son he came to understand that 
the son had evidently expected a rich father — a 
father with money and not so poor that he had to be 

244 



PARROT GODS 

given free "board and lodging." Besides the old 
man had noticed that his daughter-in-law was using 
"traife" meat and keeping her house as if she were a 
gentile. 

Taken together, the poor old man could not bear 
these things and left his son's house without hear- 
ing, either from son or daughter-in-law, the slightest 
wish that he should remain with them. He became a 
peddler ! He drives a push-cart with a few apples 
and bananas on it, and from this he draws his liveli- 
hood. Often he goes hungry, but sh ! not a word to 
anyone about this 1 He is too proud, too noble to be 
a "shnorrer," to beg for assistance. There he sits, 
and the clouds upon his couiitenaiice become larger 
and thicker. I gaze on him and my heart is rent. 
I know hov/ one life-cord after another snaps within 
him. 

Oh ! if the benches could but talk, I thought, we 
should learn some awful tales — sorrowful, heart- 
rending and bitter tales. Lonely and sorrowful, I 
walked over to the river, tears streaming from my 
eyes — warm, pure tears. They disappeared into the 
river quite unnoticed, as disappear the tears of all 
unfortunates in this world. The moon which had 
been dipping in the river and silvering its waters, 
looked upon me as if it were a human being, and in 
her look, I read a fiery sentence : "Oh ! poor poet I 
Oh ! poor mortals !" 



245 



INTERVIEWS BEYOND THE GRAVE 

SEVERAL years ago a tragi-comedy was per- 
formed in one of the halls of our great Metrop- 
olis. A certain Ivan Narodny, who named 
himself "General," proclaimed a "Russian Republic" 
here. 

Who was this "General?" 

Was he a dreamer? A Utopian? A maniac? 
Or perhaps a lunatic? 

I can hardly answer any of these questions, but one 
thing I know for sure that no one of the Tsar's fam- 
ily was at all frightened at this proclamation, and 
the Tsar himself, if such a report reached him, sure- 
ly laughed in his sleeve. What was Narodny's idea? 

Or perhaps his answer 'would remind us of the 
answer of a provincial reporter to his friends. 

A certain reporter, who was very well qualified for 
writing reports about fires and suicides ,about thefts 
and kidnapping affairs, and who had become "fam- 
ous" through his interviews, which always contained 
everything but the truth, made himself believe that 
he is also a writer and a judge of literature. 

And this reporter, thinking that he had the abilities 
of a writer, once invited some of his friends to his 
house to read for them a dozen sheets of paper, 
which he called a novel, and which bore the title 
"My Mother-in-law's Macaroni-board." iWhen he 
finished the reading his face beamed with joy and 
he expected, of course, general approval of his tal- 
ents. But the audience was still, and after a minute 
of silence one of his friends dared to ask him. 

847 



PARROT GODS 

"What is the central idea of this so-called novel?" 

"What do you mean?" asked the reporter angrily, 
"everything" is supposed to have an idea? Nonsence! 
I do not believe in such routine, in such conventional 
axioms. I am too progressive for such things ; I 
am above ideas and logic !" 

"If such is the case," his friend answered, "I have 
no more questions to ask you. Go on with your 
writings and never make use of ideas and of logic, 
for they are not for you." 

If Narodny was not a victim, of foolishness, as was 
this reporter, and really had some original ideas, I 
would advise him (if he would ask me, of course,) 
to do something better for the cause of bringing re- 
lief to the martyrs of Russian tyranny, and my ad- 
vice would positively bring better results than his 
"palliative remedies," as he called his proclamation 
and ultimatum to the Russian government. 

My advice would be this : To go incognito to 
Russia and with the help of experienced revolution- 
ists kidnap the Russian Tsar and bring him to our 
shore. Narodny would undoubtedly find a manager 
here who would put Nicholas in a menagerie for ex- 
hibition and make a fortune thereby. I am sure that 
no matter how high the admission ticket would be, 
everyone would go to see this wonderful half animal 
and half human being. The Americans are very fond 
of animals. Even the popularity of our Roosevelt 
is due mostly to his dealing with animals. And as 
it is now the fashion to offer premiums, I would ad- 
vise Narodny and his manager to give to everyone, 
who buys a ticket for the show of the greatest Rus- 
sian animal. Prince Urusof's book, "Memoirs of a 

248 



PARROT GODS 

Russian Governor." Ursuof was the Governor of 
Kishinef, and the readers of his book would better 
understand the zoology and zoography of such ani- 
mals as the Russian ruler. 

But as Narodny's revolutionary "activities" are a 
matter of the past, and I presume at present he would 
not risk going to Russia for the purpose of kidnap- 
ping the Tsar, I would advise him to enter another 
field of activity — to become a reform rabbi. The 
fact that he is a Gentile would not be in his way, for 
there are many reform congregations in our beloved 
country which would prefer a real "goy" to one who 
calls himself a Jewish rabbi and tries to outdo the 
real "goyim." 

But if he does not know English well or if his pro- 
nunciation of "th" sounds at all faulty, he should not 
attempt to put his feet in the boots of a reform rab- 
bi, for he would make a laughing stock of himself as 
one reform rabbi of German birth, whose pronuncia- 
tion of **chief" of the Hebrew Union College sounds 
like "thief." And having many reasons to think 
that Narodny's English and especially his "th" are 
not perfect enough to make him qualified to wear the 
toga of a reform rabbi, I would advise him (I know 
that he looks for a job) to choose a new career, which 
as far as logic and sound judgment is concerned, has 
much in common with his former illusions. 

Let him go to London and become a pupil of Sir 
Oliver Lodge. This gentleman, who has a name in 
the scientific world, emphatically declared that he can 
do the same as the woman of En-dor (L Samuel 
xxviii, 7), that is, have conversations and arrange in- 
terviews with the inhabitants of the other world. 



249 



PARROT GODS 

If Lodge will reveal to Narodny the secrets of his 
"art," the latter will become a very rich man at once. 
I am sure that multitudes would pay him large sums 
of money for arranging interviews with the dead for 
them. One would like to speak at least one word to 
his deceased parents ; another to his sweetheart ; a 
third to friends, etc. I myself, though I am very, 
very far from being rich (I am a Hebrew poet, you 
know, and this speaks for itself) would "buy" from 
him several such interviews. 

First, I should like to have an interview with Dr. 
Herzl, whom I was not fortunate enough to see while 
he lived. I should like to tell him that his loftiest 
child, Zionism, is in agony. I should like to make 
known to him that it has now many undesirable 
nurses ; that many dicredited socialists and so-called 
anarchists are trying (and their chutzpa' always 
he^ps them) to become even leaders among the Zion- 
ists and to lead them by the nose. I would tell him 
that his great ideal is not inspiring now as before, for 
we lack sincere agitators and we have not many hon- 
est exponents of it. I would tell him everything and 
I would ask him what to do. 

This prince of Israel would surely advise me how 
to help the cause of our great national aspiration, 
and how to get rid of the elements which are danger- 
ous to Zionism. Then again I should like to have 
an interview with Mapu and Smolenskin. I would 
show them many, many modern Hebrew books and I 
would ask them to explain to me the meaning of 
many Hebrew words and phrases there. And how 
great would be the shame of the author of Ahavath 
Zion and of the author of Kvuratli Cliamor not to be 



250 



PARROT GODS 

able to explain the meaning of the modern Hebrew 
words or even to read them correctly. 

And with pride I would say to them : You see, 
old fellows, how much more progressive are we, the 
youngsters, than you were. You cannot even read 
our "ivri.f After that I would take dozens of vol- 
umes containing modern Hebrew poetry and put 
them on the golden tables, around which Gordon and 
Lebensohn sit in Gan Eden, and would say to them 
as follows : 

"My dear colleagues, your poems are out of fash- 
ion nowadays ! Your poems, Michal, are too old, too 
primitive, too childish. We, modern writers, like 
stormy feelings, bohemian outpourings and realistic 
tokens of love. We do not like to speak of love in 
the language of nuns. We modern poets like to in- 
terpret the vibration of our souls according to the 
European style. 

Your poems, Gordon, are not read now at all. 
They are too prosaic, too nonsensical, too plain. 
Nowadays we bestow honor on modern people, who 
sing the glory of Indians, who are composing rhymes 
in honor of the Eskimos. We like such kinds of 
poetry. We revere such things. We give bequests 
to writers of such gems. What is the use of writing 
poetry, which is easily understood, and which does 
not need at least half a dozen dictionaries to explain 
it? 

Ye understand, dear colleagues and teachers, that I 
am not expressng my individual sentiments, for I am 
still proud to belong to your school. But I am voic- 
ing the opinion of many youngsters, who are ignor- 
ing you entirely. If you care that attention should 



251 



PARROT GODS 

be paid to you again, I would advise you to write 
something new, and try to be as cynical as one of 
the French decadents, and use as many new Hebrew 
words as you can (you will find them in the modern 
Hebrew dictionaries, which are manufactured from 
time to time). And after you are through with your 
writings, send them over to one of the modern crit- 
ics, and if he will put his seal of approval on them; 
then, of course, they will be read. 

After this interview I will ask to have an interview 
arranged for me with one of the deceased reform 
rabbis. I should like to inquire whether he has been 
placed there, in the other world, together with priests 
and with churchmen, whose company he always tried 
to join, or as a punishment for him he has been put 
among orthodox Jews whom he always hated and 
whose presence he was not able to endure. Very 
many of the reform rabbis, who are still alive, I have 
not a great desire to see and to interview, but a re- 
form rabbi, a dead one, well, him I should not mind 
seeing, for in the two or three minutes I should see 
him he would not be able to exhibit so much foolish- 
ness and so much ignorance of Jewish affairs as one 
of the reform rabbis usually shows even in the 
briefest of his sermons. 



252 



RUSSIA IN TEN YEARS 
A Prophecy. 

ARCADY OSIPOVITCH GUIMPELSOHN is 
very tired. As editor of a great daily, he 
works very hard all the time and to-day he 
worked more than ever before. But, although, he 
worked very much that day and is very tired, he is, 
nevertheless, more satisfied than ever before and his 
heart is full of joy, because, since he became editor, 
he had never had a more joyous and better day. 

Some time before the censorship in Russia was 
abolished, and to-day all the editors with their staffs 
assembled to take leave of the president of the com- 
mittee on censors, v/hom they honored with a magni- 
ficent banquet at Falkin's restaurant. 

O, how beautifully and cordially everything went 
on ! How friendly and lovely the president was ! — 
on whom, till now, the writers looked as upon Satan 
the accuser, as upon a man who had in life but one 
task to perform — to spoil, to destroy. . . . 

Like the melodious charmed music of a Wagner 
opera, sound even now in Guimpelsohn^s ears the in- 
spired speeches with the ingenious and witty toasts 
which were made and delivered there on that great 
occasion. 

He closes his eyes and begins to indulge in pleasant 
recollections. . . . The president was the first ora- 
tor of the day. He began by declaring candidly, that 
he often felt himself greatly pained and deeply 
grieved when compelled to strike out, in an article 
or a poem, a free thought or a keen expression. Yes, 

253 



PARROT GODS 

he himself then felt the pains of Job, who was forced 

to scratch his own wounds with a potsherd 

But he was compelled to act in the manner he acted, 
first, because his office demanded it from him; and, 
secondly, because a thousand eyes of the Tsar's spies 
continually looked at him. . . . But now there is in 
Russia a free press, without a censor, without a dic- 
tator! One can write anything; nobody is longer 
compelled to make use or hints, of insinuations 
now. . . . And, although he, as president had now 
lost his position, he is, nevertheless, highly gratified 
at the free spirit which begins to reign in Russia, and 
he looks at it as a great bright sunbeam which com- 
mences to shine, little by little, on Russia's heaven. 

Highly enthusiastic applause accompanied the 
president's speech. 

After him the old and much-beloved litterateur 
Goremiskof, who, not long ago, was liberated from 
the Petropavlovsky fortress, where he was impris- 
oned upon an order of one of the Tsar's bloodhounds, 
took the floor. 

"In my dark and wet cellar, far from air and 
light," began the old, venerable writer, *T sat and 
waited with impatience for my redeemer — Death. I 
was lonely and unhappy in my cellar ! And certain- 
ly every human being will feel lonely who sits locked 
up, even in the most magnificent palace, because 
there never was and never will be a better, more 
necessary and more useful thing for man on earth 
than liberty. Now, I am with you again and am 
very, very pleased to be able to welcome together 
with you the rising of a new sun, of a warm sun, in 
our Fatherland's heaven, which begins to grow 

254 



PARROT GODS 

broader, brighter, clearer and purer. . . . Many of 
our champions for liberty were banished to Siberia; 
many of them rotted away for years in the Petro- 
pavlovsky and Schlsselburg fortresses ; many of 
them were hanged and shot. ... At length, we 
are victors. With our bright struggle we conquered 
the dark government, the gloomy power. The dead 
bodies of our martyrs, of our champions, became the 
bridge, the iron bridge on which we walked, many, 
many years until we reached the Temple of Liberty, 
which, till now, was surrounded on all sides by heavy 
iron gates. . . . Now I die contented, because I am 
a free man in a free country." 

The words caused streams of tears to flow and 
mighty applause deafened the spacious and beauti- 
ful hall of Falkin's restaurant. 

Many more orations were delivered but none made 
such a powerful impression upon the assembly as the 
one delivered by the Jewish editor Blagorodny. 

"O, gentlemen !" he began. ''Your joy is great 
now, but mine is greater still. I rejoice doubly: as 
a man and as a Jew. I rejoice as a man, because our 
barbarous country became more human; I rejoice as 
a Jew, because we, Jews, are in Russia no longer an 
exception among all her Christian citizens. There 
exists for us now no special Jewish laws, no special 
Jewish places and cities. We continually also car- 
ried the burdens of its government not less than all 
its citizens, we shed our blood in all the battles ; we 
lost many sons and brothers in the late war with 
Japan, which took away from us many provinces and 
diminished our name and finances. Yes, we were in- 
vited to sad and gloomy affairs of state, to popular 

255 



PARROT GODS 

funerals, when the honor and integrity of our coun- 
try were at stake — but when there was a general, 
popular rejoicing then it was shamefully declared 
officially; 'There is a festival day for all citizens 
except for the Jews !' But now there are 'other 
times — other birds ; other birds — other songs.' Like 
a mighty hurricane, sweeps now over our Fatherland 
a new song, a free song, which gives us new strength, 
new aspirations, new hopes." 

The guests spent the day af Falkin's till evening. 
Leaving it, the sun which began to move towards the 
West, shed upon their faces an ocean of light, as 
if he also wished to welcome them in a mute lan- 
guage, in a hint. 

Guimpelsohn went to his editorial room with fresh 
courage and a triumphant heart. With great gusto 
he began to write an article entitled, "Free Russia," 
in which he demonstrated with strong arguments 
that liberty is the best protector of a country, and 
attacked mercilessly the obscurants, the followers of 
the late von Plehve, Pobiedonostsef, Suvorin, and all 
the mean creatures who are against reforms and want 
to distort the Russian heads with clerical and con- 
servative old woman's talk. "I do not need to wait 
for the censor's approval," said Guimpelsohn joyful- 
ly to himself, "we have freedom in everything now. 
O, happy the land which is governed free, and happy 
its free citizens !" 



256 



TSAR NICHOLAS AND I 

I SEE by the papers that the Russian Emperor 
is abroad now, and that there he is leading the 
Hfe of a plain mortal — talking freely to all, visit- 
ing restaurants and taking auto rides without being 
surrounded with thousands of guards and spies. I 
noticed this item in the paper and a good idea struck 
me — to take a trip abroad and to interview the Tsar 
for the press. While in Russia I, of course, never 
dreamt of staying near the Tsar, but now, when op- 
portunity knocks at my door, I do not wish to miss 
it. 

Being an American citizen, I thought at first of 
asking President Taft to give me a letter of intro- 
duction to the Russian autocrat ; but soon I reminded 
myself that they were not on good terms on account 
of the passport question. ... So I decided to ask 
for letters of introduction to him from Mr. Burtzef, 
who is an intimate friend and well-wisher of his, 
and from Dr. Zhitlowsky, whom the Tsar loves dear- 
ly since the former declared his devotion to Jesus 
and his admiration for his teachings. Burtzef sent 
me the desired letter at once, but I had to arg^e with 
Zhitlowsky long before I succeeded in getting a let- 
ter, for he doesnj't care to introduce people who think 
that Hebrew and not Yiddish is the national lan- 
guage of our race, as the "great philosopher" pathe- 
tically declares. 

When I came to the summer resort and reached 
the palace where Nicholas was temporarily dwelling, 
I was met by an officer, who courteously escorted me 

257 



PARROT GODS 

to the Tsar's private room. When I entered the 
room it was empty. The officer took from me the 
letters of introduction, together with my card, and in 
a few minutes a blond and sickly middle-aged man 
came out to me and, stretching out both hands said: 

"I am Nicholas, and I am happy indeed to wel- 
come a young writer who is doubly dear to me, as 
an American citizen, and especially as a Jew." 

"And I am thankful to Heaven," I exclaimed, 
"for granting me the opportunity to meet Your Maj- 
esty, the Tsar of all the Russians." 

"It sounds queer to me to hear the words 'Majes- 
ty' and 'Tsar' from people in general and especially 
from my equals. Please call me plain Nick, and I'll 
feel more at home with you." 

"Nick? Well, let it be Nick! Will you please 
tell me, Your Ma — I mean Nick, what kind of re- 
forms we can expect in your country in the near fu- 
ture?" 

"It is hard to answer at present. I presume you 
know that I am not in unison with the present Duma. 
What kind of a Duma is it, I pray? The first and 
the second Dumas had at least some Jewish members, 
with whom I was able to discuss matters. I always 
listened thoughtfully to their demands; I carefully 
studied their speeches. But now? There are almost 
no Jews in the Duma, and real Russians (I must tell 
the truth about my own subjects) can only drink 
vodka and sip tea." 

"Are you aware, Nick, of the achievements of the 
Jews in America?" 

"Oh, yes, of course," answered Nicholas, with a 
bright smile. "Besides the English papers, I also 

258 



PARROT GODS 

read, with the help of a Jewish teacher, the Yiddishes 
Tageblatt This i s a splendid paper ! I wish 
Suvorin and other editors in Russia would study it," 

"May I ask whether you are acquainted with Jew- 
ish literature?" 

"Indeed, I am! According to the opinions of the 
modern creators of this literature, no one could be 
considered an intelligent man, unless he studied it. 
And don't you really think that it is more important 
to read the outpourings of such 'men of letters' as 
Zeiffert, Selikovitz, Terr, Malachovsky, Glick and 
many of their like, than the production of a Shakes- 
peare, an Ibsen, a Hugo and of my own Tolstoi?" 

"Oh, I see you have a good knowledge of Yiddish 
literature, and I am inclined to think that you know 
also the Hebrew literature, do you not?" 

"I did study the Bible in the original Hebrew, I 
read some Hebrew classics also, but I couldn't con- 
quer the modern Hebrew. One of my Hebrew 
friends, a real good scholar, told me that the modern 
Hebrew could be called an international language, a 
kind of Esperanto. Well, I do not want to bother 
with it!" 

"What do you think of Zionism?" 

"I do not like it at all. It is against my personal 
interest. It proposes to take out the Jews from Russia 
and to settle them in Palestine. And how can I look 
calmly on such a thing? To let the Jews go out of 
my land? Who will be my advisers, my friends, my 
helpers? Who will take care of me and of my fam- 
ily? Oh, no; I am against Zionism; I like the Jews 
too much. I like them almost as much as I like the 
best Russian product — vodka." 

259 



PARROT GODS 

"Would you like to visit the United States some 
day?" 

"I should like to very much, but I am afraid of 
Emma Goldman, the modern Nemesis, and of her 
colleagues. Besides, I was told that a certain Ke- 
Mllah is established there, and who knows what this 
mighty organization might do to me? Even here, 
aloof from it, I sometimes shiver when I think of it. 
No, I could not go to your country, unless I received 
an official invitation from the Kehillah." 

"And what do you think of American politics?" 

"Charles Murphy is a great statesman, and I am 
sure that he is to be your next President; and he 
would surely be the right man for such a high office. 
He is clever, as innocent as a lamb, and as good-nat- 
ured as an angel. Taft I do not like. He is too fat. 
I am thin, my friend Whilhelm is not stout, either. 
Only a President, who is one of the people, and not a 
real Tsar, could take such liberty — to weight almost 
three hundred pounds. Even Roosevelt, whom I do 
not like very much for his freshness, is better than 
Taft, for he weighs less." 

"Are you going to do something for the Jews on 
your return home?" 

"Yes, yes ! I am going to give them more rights 
than to the real Russians. I know that they are the 
chosen people, and they ought to be distinguished. 
All my ministers I am going to select from among 
them, all my governors and all other high officials. 
My land will prosper, everything in it will blossom, 
when I have the Jews as my counsellors. The Jews 
are a great nation ; they are worthy descendants of 
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. No wonder that even 

260 



PARROT GODS 

my Jesus was a Jew, a real good Jew." 

"And what are you going to do with the anti- 
Semites, who are accusing the Jews without being 
able to prove their accusations?" 

"I'll declare brotherhood in my land, and no en- 
mity will exist between race and race." 

"Well, Nick, one more question and 111 retire. 
Tell me, please, is the rumor based on fact that you 
intend to give up your throne and retire to private 
life? It is a great deed, indeed! As a private man 
you will work, you will think, you will do whatever 
lies in your power for your fellowmen, whose misery 
you will then understand better and to whose cries 
I hope you wouldn't turn a deaf ear. You have had 
enough, Nick, of your throne! Give it up, it isn't 
worth the trouble and the care. As a Tsar you have 
only enemies ; as a Tsar you are disliked in all civil- 
ized countries. Everybody considers you a brute, 
a kind of Nero, of Caligula, of an Ivan the Terrible. 
.... You see, I am frank with you. I am telling 
you the truth. Truth, you know, is even above the 
Tsar. 

"I'll take your advice into consideration, for I 
think you are right 1" 

"Then I hope to see you in the near future as a 
plain, honest man. Would not that be great, Nick? 
Meanwhile, good-bye, thank you for the opportun- 
ity you have granted me to see the ruler of a great 
land !" 

"Whom are you talking to. Papa, dear ? Get up !" 

I awoke. Near me stood my little Ruthie, who put 
her arms around my neck and disturbed my sweet 
dream. I looked at her lovingly, and I was charmed 

261 



PARROT GODS 

anew by her beautiful blue eyes, which the early 
rays of the rising sun coming into my window 
brightened more and more. 

"Papa, darling, you slept quite late to-day." 

"I dreamt, my child, I dreamt!" 



26^ 



A TRIP TO CONY ISLAND 

THE car, bound for Coney Island, is packed with 
people, who shout and yell and babble in differ- 
ent tongues and dialects. Above all this din, 
the ladies make themselves heard. They shriek and 
scream, and occasionally burst out in boisterous 
laughter which stuns and bewilders one. The ladies 
are daintly dressed and what wonder? Coney Island 
is a place where one can spend ones time very agree- 
ably in the company of fine young people, who are 
thrilled when a beautiful young lady confers a smile 
upon them, or even gives them only a look. 

In a corner, nor far from the door, sits a young 
man of about thirty, light-haired with a crooked nose 
and cat-like eyes which are restless in their sockets, 
He is sad and absorbed in thought. His brow is 
clouded and his face is gloomy. Before his mind 
pass old, very old visions ; he dreams over again 
past, almost forgotten dreams. . . . 

He is ten years old, and lives with his parents in 
Kabzanilovke. His parents are poor, drawing but a 
meager existence from a little store in which there is 
everything but stock. His parents live in the direst 
poverty, get along with next to nothing, always are 
worried by their customers, by the "muzhiksj*' with 
whom they deal, and the little money they earn they 
need for little Jakey, to get good teachers for him ; 
the best in town. Their only hope is that their son 
should be a scholar, a pedant, and perhaps, in time, 
a rabbi. How happy they were on Saturday after- 
noons! After the **chalent," with which they re- 

263 



PARROT GODS 

freshed their "additional souls," they took a nap, af- 
ter which Chana-Braina, Jacob's mother read the 
week's portion in the "Tzenoreno" (Judeo-German 
translation of Pentateuch), and Benedict, her hus- 
band used to study the "Hoke Le Israel." While 
reading, they drank tea from a copper teapot, inher- 
ited from a grandfather who had the honor to go to 
the land of Israel, and there be buried. After this 
Jakey's teacher came and the Saturday's examination 
took place. Jacob knew the Pentateuch well, and 
also had an understanding of the Talmud. Hillel 
was his hero. His noble character, his zeal for 
study, his relation with men, left a deep impression 
upon Jacob. What a pleasure for his parents when 
Jakey opened the old big Gemarah and began to 
chant in his thin little voice : "One that gathers the 
flock into the fold," or "Two men that hold a gar- 
ment." 

When Jacob was fifteen, his parents died, and his 
uncle who was just then emigrating to America, took 
him along. Arriving at New York, Jacob became a 
tailor, and in a short time he earned fair wages. In 
the shop, however, where he worked he gained the 
companionship of many of the other workmen, who 
showed him little by little how much they knew of 
New York's "nice" houses, and Jacob began to fre- 
quent them very often. Jacob spent whole nights in 
dissipation, so that when he came to the shop he was 
always drowsy and fatigued. After a while his em- 
ployer discharged him, and Jacob was left without 
a living. 

For a long time he had no work, and only his 
good friends saved him from starvation. 

264 



PARROT GODS 

Through the recommendation of a friend he again 
secured a position in a shop, and in the course of a 
year he became foreman. Among other employees 
in that shop there was a young and very beautiful 
girl, Katy Cohen. Her cheeks were like fresh roses ; 
her eyes — like beryls ; her black, long hair — silken 
threads ; and her lips — cherry. Everyone in the shop 
admired her; and she was surely worthy of admira- 
tion ; for besides being very beautiful ; she was kind 
and gentle. When she came to the shop in the morn- 
ing, she greeted everyone with a most affectionate 
smile, and on leaving she said "Good-bye" to every- 
one with that same smile. 

Jacob, too, admired Katy, and soon they were in 
love. Katy was naive: she knew little of the world, 
and still less of men. Jacob Windman knew her de- 
ficiency, and took advantage of it. For a few 
months he went around with her, took her to summer 
resorts and theaters, until he had completely led her 
astray. Then he became colder and colder towards 
her, like a volcano after an eruption ; and when Katy 
would ask him quietly : "What do you intend to 
do?" he would answer harshly: "I intend to marry, 
but not you!" 

Katy's condition became daily worse and worse. 
Every coming day cast upon her a new gloom. She 
knew well that every new day, her secret was nearer 
to disclosure. She understood that she was now 
alone in God's great world, unhappy and helpless. 
Soon, soon she would be unable to work; soon she 
would not even be able to go out of doors ; soon she 
would — and tears streamed from her beautiful eyes, 
and from her heart escaped deep and heavy sobs. 

265 



PARROT GODS 

For a few months she was tortured and suffered 
agony, and then with a Httle carboHc she put an end 
to all her wretchedness. She took poison, in her 
little room at night when all were asleep. For a 
long time she had been standing near the window 
and gazing out. The night seemed to her now more 
beautiful than ever. A charm, a peculiar grace 
seemed to overspread God's little world. It was one 
of those nights which God himself enjoys, and in 
which he is gratified with his work. 

The sky was streaked with blue and white, thou- 
sands of little stars moved in every direction, winked 
with their fiery eyes, and sparkled and twinkled as 
if they were demolishing the heavens, undoing and 
revolutionizing them. Katy did not wish to part 
from such a world, such a nature, such a sky. She 
knew that in her grave, she could not see anything 
more. The night charmed her; she wanted to live, 
to work and hope; but the thought that soon all 
would see her shame gave her no rest, and she finally 
took the poison. In the morning her cold corpse 
was taken to the place whence no one returns, and 
hardly any one attended her funeral, for she had no 
relatives in New York, and her friends were ashamed 
to be present at the funeral of one who had a bad 
reputation. Neither did Jacob attend. He did not 
wish the world to know that he was the cause, the 
murderer that robbed Katy of her honor, her soul 
and her life. 

He recalls this incident and a shudder passes 
through his whole body. How foolishly, how sadly 
he had terminated his youth! How inconsiderately 
he had acted in everything ! 

26G 



PARROT GODS 

He recalls it now — and his heart is racked with 
pain. 

He is going to Coney Island, now, having prom- 
ised two young ladies to visit them there. 

"Coney Island!" suddenly called the conductor in 
a gruff voice, and all the passengers left the car. 
When Jacob came out, he found his two friends to 
whom he was going waiting for him, and they im- 
mediatey went to enjoy themselves in a manner be- 
fitting Coney Island. 



26 V 



REPORTER OXENKOP 
(A Picture From My Western Gallery) 

A few months ago, while in St. Louis, 1 was sit- 
ting in my room, and at the same time I was 
amusing myself with the gambols of my land- 
lady's comical little pug-dog, which was fawning 
upon me. I was also enjoying the reading of 
a "criticism" on my poems by a tchinos writer. Sud- 
denly the door bell rang and soon after the house- 
maid ushered into my room a stout young fellow 
with a bulldog face and idiotic eyes. 

"Are you Professor Leavitt?" he asked with 
feigned humility. 

"First of all, please do not call me professor, be- 
cause . . ." 

"Why?" interrupted my visitor "I read in the pa- 
pers that you were a Professor of Hebrew and Re- 
ligion in a Russian Gymnasium, if I am not mistaken 
at Kishinef, and you are entitled to this name." 

"I know that I am entitiled to the name, but I do 
not believe in titles at all, especially when titles 
are so misused, as they are in America. Getzel 
Badchon, whose place is in a circus, calls himself 
'professor' ; Shmeril Shadchon calls himself 'rever- 
end' and Yekel Mohel calls himself 'surgeon.' . . . 
No, I do not care for titles!" 

"You are too modest!" he replied "and modesty 
is bad policy. Take myself for example! Were I 
modest, I should still be in my native land, in Ru- 
mania, and should still be at my work as an appren- 
tice to my uncle the shoe maker. I am proud to tell 
you, that I was a shoemaker, for I am a socialist, 

269 



PARROT GODS 

and all my comrades are tailors and shoemakers. . . 
And do you know what I am now? Here I am!" . . 
And saying this, he handed me a card, which was 
as big as a sheet of foolscap, and I began to read : 

"Oscar Oxenkop 

Member of the 'Arbeiter Ring'; treasurer of the 
*Yom Kippur Ball Society'; solicitor for Wolf the 
tailor; ex-janitor of the local Yiddish daily; member 
of a dramatic club ; secretary of a non-prohibition as- 
sociation; author of 'Oh, how good for all'; (a doz- 
en typewritten copies) ; 'The New Lie' ; 'Foolish 
Promises' ; etc. ; etc. ; etc. ; and reporter of the 'Look 
Out' for St. Louis and vicinity." 

"Ah, I see you are a jack of all trades !" I remarked 
sarcastically, turning to the reporter, "but what, pray, 
can I do for you?" 

"Would you like to become a member of the *Ar- 
beiter Ring'? It is a very good society, as I am a 
Jew." 

"Well, what else?" 

"Would you like to give a donation to the 'Yom 
Kippur Ball Society'? We had a deficit last year. 
You know why? Let me tell you; we put in too 
large a stock of ham sandwiches and lager beer for 
the use of our members after Kol Nidrei, and they 
did not all come, and we were compelled to give away 
the ham and beer to negroes and to Irishm?.n for 
little or nothing, so losing a lot of money." 

"I am against such balls, and I consider the mem- 
bers of such societies as hefker 3ruiigeii (wanton fel- 
lows)." 

"Very well ! Let us then talk business ! Would 
you like to have a stylish pair of pants for half of 

270 



PARROT GODS 

their value ? As you saw f ronii my card, I am soliciting 
for the famous tailor Wolf, who you know is a near 
relative of mine, and I am in a position to ask him 
to make you a nice pair of pants at a very low price." 

"You are very kind indeed, but though I am a 
Hebrew poet, I have more than one pair of pants. 
An unusual thing for a poet, isn't it so?" 

"What do you think of the representatives of the 
local Yiddish daily? Aren't they, fakirs and char- 
latans? I was their faithful janitor from the very 
beginning of the paper, and all of a sudden they 
bounced me. . ." 

"I do not know them yet, and I do not want t 

speak about people whom I do not know." 

"Would you like to join our dramatic club? There 
we read and analyze plays, beginning with Ibsen's 
and Suderman's and ending with Libin's and Litein- 
er s. 

"No, thank you." 

"What about joining our non-prohibition associa- 
tion?" 

"I am for prohibition." 

"Have you seen my writings? All my socialistic 
friends including Schmeichler the well known critic 
and reporter, declare that they, my writings, not my 
friends, will make an epoch in American literature 
and my fame will reach the North pole as well as the 
South pole. I told you before that I am not modest, 
and I do believe in their prophecy." 

"I am glad to see a sincere believer in our day of 
scepticism, but how far the prophecy of your admir- 
ers will go, the future will show." 

271 



PARROT GODS 

"Now let me ask you a few questions, and I will 
release you." 

"Well !" 

"Who is greater — Tolstoi or Gordin? Can Emma 
Goldman, the modern prophetess of anarchism, be 
considered as great a leader as Deborah, the pro- 
phetess of yore? Is Rosenfeld as great as Milton? 
Can we expect in the near future an anarchistic re- 
gime in Russia? Is it a fact that the 'sick man,' the 
ruler of Turkey, is willing to sell Palestine to the 
Zionists?" 

"You ask me many questions and I am sorry to 
say that I do not feel like answering any of them. 
You must excuse me, I am a busy man, good-bye!" 

"Good-bye!" answered the reporter angrily, hastily 
stalking out of my room. 

A few days after, a friend of mine brought me a 
paper in which I found an "interview" with me by 
Oscar Oxenkop. In this the reoprter said that I 
know twenty-five languages, that I am the author of 
fifty books, that I am a great friend of the Tsar of 
Russia and of Roosevelt, that I am awaiting a posi- 
tion as an ambassador to Spain, that I am going to 
force the U. S. government to accept my amendments 
to our Constitution, and that I am a great admirer 
of his, the reporter's, "literary" abilities. 

Immediately I sent a letter to the paper, in which 
the interview was published, denying all the stories, 
which the "honest" reporter made up about me, and 
after this letter of mine was published, I received a 
note from the reporter, Oxenkop, threatening me, that 
he, with the help of a friend and of his wife, who has 
"literaryi" aspirations will "write me up" in a paper 

272 



PARROT GODS 

in such a vein, that no one will care any more for my 
poems ; he wilt actually blot out my name from the 
earth, and all that will be left for me to do is to re- 
peat from early dawn till late at night : — "Val 
victis" . . . 

I read the reporter's scarecrow letter, and the last 
four lines of my fable "The Lion and the Dogs" came 
into my mind : 

"They cannot in their dirt envelop me; 
Far from me is their dust — it leaves no stain 
They are but dogs — they have to bark and yelp. 
And I ? The self-same lion I remain !" 



■73 



THE SEDER SERVICE 

WELL, Chaim, when will you begin to think 
about Passover?" Sarah Yente asked her 
husband, Chaim the fiddler. 

"What shall I think?" answered Chaim. "It is 
hard to find 'chometz' in our house the whole year, 
and ^matzos/ thank God, we have already in our 
house for the last few days. And what kind of 
*matzos' ! It is a pleasure to look at them ! So 
well baked, so white and as thin as glass ! I am 
sure that even Reb Shloime, who is as rich as *Rot- 
chil,' will not have any better ones." 

"Chaim, you speak like a fool," responded Sarah 
Yente, half angrily. "Passover is no joke! Pass- 
over is not an ordinary holiday! If we have *mat- 
zos,' do you think we are done?" 

"What more do you need?" asked Chaim, pitifully. 
"Don't be angry, don't scold, tell me what you need." 

"What more do I need? I need fat, beet-root soup 
for the 'seder,' 'chickens', and many, many other 
things." 

"Be calm, my dear, with God's help we will have 
everything. I know very well what a holiday Pass- 
over is. I was not brought up among *goyim !' I 
know that for Passover every pious Jew must spend 
a lot of money, for on Passover every Jew is a king, 
and a king cannot get along with nothing. Passover 
is a holiday which makes no distinction between rich 
and poor; we all drink wine like lords, eat 'Kneid- 
lach' and sit on leaning chairs equipped with cush- 
ions like real noblemen." 

27.^ 



PARROT GODS 

"Were you very much pleased with my last year's 
*Kneidlach'?" suddenly asked Sarah Yente, turning 
to her husband with a honey-sweet smile. 

"They were very good, they melted in the mouth 
like almond-tart," replied Chaim, obediently, to his 
future "queen." 

"I'll make you such 'Kneidla.ch' this year also, and 
perhaps, even better ones, if you will paint the kit- 
chen and make the stove 'kosher.' Don't forget, 
Chaim, that for a sin against the laws of Passover 
one has to suffer the penalty of annihilation '' 

"I shall do everything," answered Chaim with hu- 
mility, "only be calm, my dear 'queen' 1" 

'fj ♦ H* 

Three days after this conversation came Passover 
eve. 

The two little rooms, in which Chaim and his wife 
lived, were washed very clean. The old couch which 
Chaim had inherited from his wife's uncle, of whom 
he was very proud, because this uncle was a "lamdon" 
and had the honor to die in the land of Israel, in 
Palestine, was covered with a snow white sheet; the 
broken chairs, which Chaim's father-in-law and 
mother-in-law had left him as an heirloom, also had 
a festal appearance; even Chaim's fiddle, which al- 
ways played mournfully at poor Jews' weddings, 
hung on the wall and looked as if it also participated 
in the poor family's joy, and its strings seemed to 
understand what rest and happiness meant 

When in the evening Chaim came home from the 
synagogue, he found everything prepared; on his 
table stood five large stearine candles, which illumin- 
ated the bottle of wine with the cups ; near them 

276 



PARROT GODS 

stood plates containing the things belonging to the 
"seder." 

Chaim takes in his hand a cup of wine and pro- 
nounces the proper benediction. His voice rings 
loud and courageously. His eyes burn like fire. His 
face is full of sympathy and on his pale lips dwells 
a gentle smile. 

Is this Chaim the fiddler, who always walks bent 
and looks like a mourner? 

Is this the same Chaim who plays at poor wed- 
dings and gives thanks so slavishly on receiving a 
few pennies? 

Is this the same Chaim, who shivers in the pres- 
ence of every policeman and is ready to obey his or- 
ders? 

Nay ! He is now a different Chaim, his heart is 
full of kingly pride, in his mind he annuls now all 
the special laws against the Jews existing in his na- 
tive land, in Russia, which he left for the land of the 
free, all the anti-Semites and all those who mock at 
things which are so near and so dear to the Jewish 
heart. 

Chaim, his wife and their only son take in their 
hands the old, greasy and stained "hagodos" and 
together they read. **This is as the bread of afflic- 
tion which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt;" 
and this is the bread — he thinks — which was the 
cause of false accusations against us, Jews, for many, 
many generations 

He thinks — and a historical panorama opens before 
his eyes and he sees the victims of the Spanish in- 
quisition and the holy martyrs of his race. . . . He 
thinks, but his thoughts are suddenly broken by the 

277 



PARROT GODS 

voice of the little son asking the well-known four 
Passover questions, to which his father gives the old 
reply, "Slaves were we " 

"We were?" he thinks, and what are now the 
greater part of the Jews in many barbarous lands? 
Are they free? Aren't they handicapped by dis- 
criminative laws, by special government regulations? 
Oh, how bitter is the lot of a slave! How heavy 
are the fetters of our Goluth ! And for how long 
will it be, oh, merciful Father 1" 

"In every generation hath an adversary risen 
against us to destroy us, but the Holy One, blessed 
be He, delivered us out of their hands," reads Sarah 
Yente, and Chaim becomes gayer and more courage- 
ous. He performs the Passover ceremony to ^he 
end, and after supper he divides the "Afikomon" 
into three parts, for himself, his wife and their son, 
and reads further the "hagodo." 

The light of the candles grows dim, it will soon go 
out. 

Sarah Yente and the little Joseph have gone U 
sleep already, but Chaim still sits at the table anu 
sings with the ancient tune, "One Kid." "A nice 
story, indeed, he thinks, but how came a kid in the 
midst of the hagodo?" Quiet reigns in Chaim's 
poor dwelling like in a cemetery. Leaning on the table 
slumbers Chaim the fiddler, and he dreams sweet 
dreams of liberty and equality, of Pharaoh's plagues 
and of the Exodus from Egypt 



278 



"PIECES OF LIFE" 

I- 
A Marred Sabbath 

EEAH is spending her first Saturday m America. 
She had not yet had time to rest from her 
long journey from Smilowitz to **Nev" York. 
In her Uttle native town she kept a grocery contain- 
ing many "valuable" articles, from kerosene to tar, 
and with such resources she had to support herself, 
her husband and her six children. Her husband 
earned some money once a year — Purim, playing 
then the role of Queen Vashti in a Purim play, per- 
formed in Leah's town every year by Leizer Genzele, 
the best King Achashverosh. Leah's children, how- 
ever, couldn't earn a penny even once a year, ranging 
in age as they did from two to eight years. Her 
three oldest children, a boy of twenty and two girls 
of nineteen and eighteen, had left two years previous 
for the "Golden Land," where they had rich relatives. 
From the first letters of her children she had very 
little joy, for how could a mother enjoy letters which 
are interwoven with her children's sighs and tears, 
groans and lamentations? But as time went on the 
contents of her children's letters became more joyful, 
and finally it was decided by them to have their par- 
ents and the rest of the family join them in America. 
At first Leah did not want to consider this plan, and 
her husband also declared it as an irrational thought 
to leave Smilowitz, a town full of pious Jews, and 
to go to America, where, he was told, there are many 
Jews who pray without a "minyan," and where many 

279 



PARROT GODS 

do not observe ablution before their meals. * * ^ 
Suddenly, however, a "pogrom" broke out in 
Smilowitz and Leah's grocery was subjected to the 
same fate as many other Jewish stores, that is, 
everything that was there was either destroyed or 
taken away. And Leah unwillingly decided to ask 
her children to send tickets for her and for her 
family. 

Now she is in America. It is her first Friday eve 
in New York. 

"He" has gone with a neighbor to the synagogue. 
The older children have not as yet returned from 
their shops, and Leah, surrounded by her little ones, 
is preparing everything to welcome the holy Sab- 
bath. 

Everything is ready in her house. The table is 
spread. It grows darker. The sun is slowly setting 
and it is almost on the point of dying. 

Leah lights the candles and softly murmurs a 
prayer over them. After that she puts on her "Sab- 
bath dress," takes her bulky prayerbook and loudly 
reads, "Come, let us sing unto the Lord." She fin- 
ishes her prayers. Her husband comes home, al- 
ready wishing her a joyful Saturday. He begins to 
sing in a joyful strain "Shalom aleichem" (peace on 
you) but suddenly, as if awakened from a deep sleep, 
he asks, "Where are the children?" 

"They have not as yet come home from the shop," 
she answers in a muffled voice. 

"What? Perhaps they work on Saturday, ha?" 
he asks shivering. "I do not know, they did not tell 



me.'* 



Silence reigns in the house as on a cemetery. The 

2SC 



PARROT GODS 

candles begin to go out. The little children fall 
asleep on the table leaning their heads on their skin- 
ny little hands. When the older children came home 
they find their parents sitting near the table, their 
eyes red with v/eeping. 

IL 
A Teacher in the Capacity of a Butcher 

ANTED a Hebrew teacher who should also 
keep 'kosher meat." 

I read this advertisement in a daily paper. I read 
it over several times, and each time my heart was 
bleeding more and more. A teacher who should 
serve as an example for his pupils ; a teacher who 
ought to implant in the hearts of his little ones love 
for everything ;good and beautiful, self-respect 
and dignity ; a teacher whom the little ones ought to 
consider their superior, their guide, their adviser — 
he should take at the same time the place of a plain 
butcher? Has the diaspora degenerated, degraned 
some of us so much? Didn't we inherit from our 
great predecessors the historical epithet "a wise and 
understanding people"? Or are the advertisers so 
common that they could not distinguish between a 
teacher and a butcher-boy? Oh, many, many things 
has the prolon{:;ed exile robbed us of, and instead of 
them brought us pain and care. 

Oh, my great — small nation ! Oh, poor Isrriel. 
what, alas, has become of you in Goluth { * * ♦ 

III. 
I Do Not Walk Through Pitt Street 
I avoid Pitt street, corner Rivington as much as 
possible. 

I have done no one in that neighborhood any 

281 



PARROT GODS 

harm; I have not quarrelled with anyone there, but 
I have better reasons to avoid it; my passing there 
causes me too much pain and grief. On Pitt street, cor- 
ner Rivington, there sits a middle aged woman sell- 
ing pop corn and candy. Her whole "stock'* is 
worth twenty cents, and with the earnings from this 
"business" she has to support herself and her two 
grandchildren, the orphans of her only daughter 
v/ho died a month after the death of her husband, 
whom the shop with the "kindness" of its foreman 
brought to the "Montefiore Home," where the good 
Angel of Death released him from all his troubles, 

From dawn until late at night the poor woman sits 
in her place and with a tearful voice calls out, "pop* 
corn, candy!" 

Throngs of people pass her by, and very seldom- 
does she get from them even one sympathetic look. 

Her customers are usually the little school child- 
ren in that neighborhood. They love her and they 
do not abandon her. I am ready to go many, many 
blocks out of my way in order to avoid that comer. 
My heart is too weak to see this unfortunate "busi- 
ness lady." I cannot see her without tears in my 
eyes and without a protest in my stormy heart. 

IV. 
The Speaker. 

He v/as invited to lecture on Zionism and on Na- 
tionalism, and without thinking much about it, he 
promised to do so. 

The two members of the society who came to in- 
vite him asked him to come not later than eight in 
the evening. About twenty minutes of eight he left 

282 



PARROT GODS 

his house to go to the hall where the mass-meeting 
v/as to be held. 

It was a beautiful summer evening. The heaven 
was adorned with millions of stars which were mov- 
ing as in a round dance. The moon stood in the 
middle of the firmament like a silver plate, and proud 
and majestically looked down upon the earth. The 
air was cool and fresh. The trees near the houses, 
which were standing the whole day as if fainting 
from the unbearable heat, looked refreshed, being 
swayed by a soft, gentle wind. The streets through 
which he walked were crowded with people, among 
whom he noticed many acquaintances of his. But 
he did not stop to talk to them. He had promised to 
come at eight o'clock sharp, and his promise is holy 
to him. 

When he entered the hall the chairman introduced 
him immediately to the public, and he began to lec- 
ture. He spoke with enthusiasm, with pathos and 
emotion. In black colors he pictured the condition 
of the Jews in almost all countries, and in most glow- 
ing and brightest colors he depicted the future of 
the Jews in the land of their ancestors. 

He finished. Tired and weary he left the plat- 
form and unnoticed stood in a corner of the hall. 
Not far from him stood two boys and two girls, 
who had not seen the speaker, talking in rather a 
loud voice. 

"Did you see, Cleopatra," asked a fat old maid who 
was born in Chandrikovka and who plays here the 
role of a grand dame, turning to her friends, whose 
name in the old country was Chaya, "how funny the 
speaker's necktie looked? He must have inherited 

283 



PARROT GODS 

it from his grandfather!" 

"And his coat is surely ten years old/* remarked 
one of the boys, a short little dude with the manners 
of a Brownsville aristocrat, making goo-goo eyes at 
his lady friend. 

"Ha, ha, ha," shouted the second youth, and the 
whole little crowd joined in the laughter. 

"My necktie and my coat they noticed very well," 
murmured the speaker to himself, "but my earnest 
v/ords, my inner cry, oh, they were as a voice in the 
wilderness. Oh, poor nation of mine! Can we 
build anything of such rotten material? Are such 
elements of any use for our future. Oh, merciful 
Father!" 

And with tearful eyes and a broken spirit he left 
the hall. 

V. 
Dispossessed. 

The heaven is clouded; a fine rain drops slowly; 
the earth is moist; the weather is gloomy and sad! 

I walk in the street and my heart is also clouded. 
I long for the blue sky, for the beautiful, clear 
day, for the sun which gloriously shone yesterday, 
pouring perfect sea of light into my sick soul; I 
long for the birds which flew in the air yesterday; I 
long for it all, I am melancholy. . . . 

I am not far from Ludlow street, between Hester 
and Canal streets. A small crowd of people stands 
there. What has happened? Did they catch a 
thief? Did a fire break out? Did a car crush a 
child? I go to the little crowd and remain standing 
there. 

284 



PARROT GODS 

On the sidewalk, near an old brick house, stands 
a small wooden table, nearby are four rickety chairs, 
and in them lie a few pillows, pots, spoons, plates and 
other such "precious" effects. . . . 

An hour ago the landlord ejected from the house 
all these objects because their owner, Jacob Luck- 
less, had not paid his rent. . . . 

Jacob's wife stands by her effects and crie3, 
her two children, a girl of eight and a boy 
of six, join with her in crying. Lu':!:less 
himself is not there; he lies now in the 
hospital in a dying condition. She cries quietly ; her 
sighs stifle her, she buries them deeply in her heart; 
she is ashamed to look at the people around. . . . 

One of her neighbors advised her to put out a 
plate, into which the passers-by would probably 
throw a few cents, but she refused to take the ad- 
vice; she is not a beggar — she is the wife of Luck- 
less, the writer. 

"Mother, when shall we eat?" — suddenly her boy 
asked her — "I am very hungry I" 

"Later, my child, later" — she answered and broke 
out in a violent fit of weeping. 

The rain becomes vehement, it pours forth in tor- 
rents and soaks the woman, her children, her 
effects. . . . 

VL 
Our Connoisseurs. 

Not long ago I attended a performance in a Jewish 
theater when they produced on the stage an entirely 
new piece : "Lot's Daughters" — a "touching" 
drama in eight acts, with a prologue and epilogue 
specially composed in honor of 

285 



PARROT GODS 

In the theater were many attendants who came to 
enjoy "Lot's Daughters." Near my place sat a fine 
young man in company with two very charming 
girls. With open mouths in ecstacy they looked at 
the stage and found delight, and I sat in my corner 
and yawned. . . . 

After the first act the young man turned to one 
of the girls asking her: 

"Well, Fanny, how do you like the play?" 

"Very well, Jake," replied both girls together, 
"Lot's daughters dance like expert dancing-school 
teachers, and their songs, by which they lull their 
father into sleep, are delightful and Lot himself is a 
thorough 'gentleman ;' how nicely he talks, how 
beautifully he answers his daughters ! What a pleas- 
ure !" 

"Well ! you see that I was right in refusing to go 
with you to the English theater to see Hamlet, who 
makes a fool of himself and talks nonsense," the 
young man called out to his girls. "Certainly, you 
are right," both girls nodded with their heads, "Lot's 
daughters are much more interesting than the fool- 
ish 'Hamlet.' " I heard the conversation and left 
the theater. I had no more patience to sit in the 
Tempel of Art. Going home, I said to myself : 
"What beautiful connoisseurs of art we have among 

Via. 



286 



TYPES AND PICTURES 

I. 

The "Reverend." 

IN the village where I lived, I knew a teacher by the 
name of , but what matters it what his name 

was? A name he must have had, of course. The 
rabbi and the sexton certainly would not let slip the 
chance of earning some few cents, and, at his birth, 
gave him some name or other. Whether his name 
was Tom, Dick, or Harry is of hardly any moment. 
In our village he was a primary teacher and, as a 
side issue, somewhat of a match-maker. Whether 
he was successful or not in his match-making affairs, 
I did not know ; for neither I nor any of my com- 
rades were as yet of a marriageable age. As a 
teacher, certainly he was a failure ; of this I was fully 
convinced, having been under his instruction for a 
short time. His name was seldom mentioned in 
society ; but his rod was a by-word wherever there 
was a child. 

Once I heard some talk in the synagogue, after 
prayers, of the disappearance of this teacher. No- 
body had the slightest idea of where he went. They 
talked of his mysterious disappearance for some time 
but it was gradually forgotten. I for my part cer- 
tainly never spoke of him for I did not love him 
any to well. And as to what little knowledge he im- 
parted to me there was not much of that discernable 
in me, though it has always been a matter of some 
conjecture whether the fault was his. 

287 



PARROT GODS 

While passing a certain street I was attracted by 
seme portraits in the corridor of a photograph gal- 
lery, and I stopped to examine them. Soon a stout 
man wearing a cylinder hat on his head and his gold 
pincenez on a thick red nose approached and also 
stopped to examine the portraits. He stood still for 
seme minutes and then began to turn around, walk 
back and forth in an exceedingly eccentric manner. I 
raised my head and looked at him; his face 
seemed familiar to me. Hesitatingly I approached 
asking him whether or not he v/as from my village. 
His answer being yes, I at once recognized in him 
my old teacher. I called him by name and told him 
who I was. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked me. 

"I? Nothing as yet; I am looking about; I 
think—." 

"You'll be a great failure if you must act here. 
Time is money" he said using the English equivalant 
for the latter word. 

"What's that? Money?" 

"It seems you're green yet," he answered with 
some contempt. "To be in America and not know 
what money is — huh !" 

"Well and what are you doing here?" I again 
ventured. 

"I? A nice question indeed. Why, I'm a Rever- 
end, you know — a Reverend!" 

"And how do we call that trade of yours in Rus- 
sia?" 

"Oh green one, green one! I'm cantor, preacher, 
and, if necessary, rabbi, too." 

"Pardon me. I do not understand. To be cantor, 

288 



PARROT GODS 

one must necessarily have a musical voice; to be 
preacher, one must be able to preach ; and to be rab- 
bi, otne must be able to decide upon questions of re- 
ligious import. When and where have you — " 

"You speak foolishly," he exclaimed. "This is a 
free country ! No diplomas are necessary, nor any 
laws. If you have a cylinder hat and courage to 
boot, people will be found who will listen to your 
singing, to your sermons, and to your decisions." 

"I's that the sort of a ^reverend' you represent? 
Well, well !" I answered ironically, and began to 
scrutinize the portrait of a comedian in the show- 
case before me. 

II. 
A Fault 

HEARING that the daughter of my friend had 
become engaged, I went to congratulated him. 
It was a summer evening, the sun had just set. 
Its last rays still illuminated the borders of the 
dreamy sky. A mild breeze blew through the streets 
and occasionally whispered to the random trees. 
The atmosphere was fresh and clear. It was exquis- 
itely exhilerating. I felt happy gazing on this beau- 
tiful world of God's ; and with a happy mien I en- 
tered my friend's house. "Good luck," I exclaimed, 
"good luck to you all I" 

"Why this 'good luck'?" my friend asked sardon- 
ically. 

"Have they suspended here in America our ancient 
homely custom of wishing 'good luck' when one is 
engaged to be married?" I asked in surprise. 

"The custom exists here too." 

289 



PARROT GODS 

"Well: then my 'good luck' is certainly appropri- 
ate for this occasion." 

"It would certainly be were there such occasion." 

"Has she then not been engaged to be married?" 

"No!" 

"But I heard " 

"I know; I myself thought so too — But nowa- 
days children — ah!" 

My friend sighed and continued: 

"We had all agreed that Jacob should be the fiance 
of my daughter. My Rose herself said so to all her 
acquaintances. But she was informed that Jacob 
was an ardent Zionist and a thorough Hebraist " 

"Well, then he is certainly a desirable young man," 
I said looking at my friend who stood in gloomy ab- 
straction. 

"What we deem merits our children consider at 
demerits," he answered with a sigh. "For a time 
all went well, when suddenly her manner toward her 
fiance changed. She complained to us of the jeers 
of her friends at her forming an alliance with a man 
who occupied his time with nonsense — Zionism, 
Hebrew, and other such worthless things. My pro- 
testations were of little avail, and finally the engage- 
ment was dissolved." 

"That is indeed deplorable! Are the Zionists and 
students of the Hebrew language held in such con- 
tempt?" 

"Certainly, my friend, in the eyes of our children 
who are not reared according to our old traditions, 
customs ; according to our national spirit." 

When I departed I heaved a deep sigh. I felt his 
sorrow. 



290 



PARROT GODS 

III. 
The Zionist 

HE would always be found at Zionistic meetings. 
He would sit quietly in some nook, attentively 
listening to the various speakers. At the men- 
tion of welcome tidings concerning some develop- 
ments in our national movement, his two large black 
eyes would glow and twinkle. At the hint of bad news, 
however, his head would drop mournfully, his eyes 
fill with tears, and his large forehead wrinkle. Once 
I drew him into a conversation. To my inquiry as 
to his name and occupation, he replied : "As you see 
I am a Jew like all Jews. Once I was well off, lived 
com,fortably in a village in the State of Kiev. But, 
as it seems, fortune does not favor me. I am ban- 
ished hence. 

"Here I became a peddler. Some times I earn my 
living, and sometimes I don't. Still, why complain? 
I drudge the whole day through ; my wife and only 
daughter toil as wearily : theirs is not a pleasant lot. 
But what shall one do ? 'Man is born to suffer,' " 
he quoted, "and so must we, it's God's will. In the 
evening I am at the Zionistic meetings. I love to 
hear people discuss the prospects of the nation ; to 
see them long, hope, strive for one object, one ideal. 
Zionism is the only balm to my broken spirit. I am 
in a bad way : but is our nation in a better ? We all 
carry the great historic burden on our back; we are 
all stepchildren to the nations. Let us work to- 
gether and our sufferings will cease. Yes ; Zionism 
is my sole consolation." 

I felt like pressing this poor old peddler to my 

291 



PARROT GODS 

breast, and covering his face with warm brotherly 
kisses. 

Here the chairman called the meeting to order, I 
resumed my seat, through my mind flashed the 
thought : how sublimely rich is our nation in possess- 
ing such idealists in the humblest of her sons ! 



252 



THUMB NAIL SKETCHHES 



The Physician 

A young fellow who in Russia, his native land, had 
served as a waiter in a hotel came to New York 
about ten years ago. The first year he suf- 
fered very much, but later he became an expert presser 
and began to make a comfortable living. Not satis- 
fied with the idea of remaining a presser all his life, 
he engaged a teacher and started to study and pre- 
pare himself for college. 

Meanwhile the years passed by, dropping one by 
one into eternity, and the ex-presser became a doctor 
of medicine. He took an office in Jackson street and 
sat dov/n to wait for a patient. 

A short time ago, while sitting in Jackson Street 
Park, I met the doctor. We greeted each other, and 
I inquired as to his welfare. 

"The lot of a young doctor is not an enviable one," 
he replied, sighing. "Patients who do not know me 
will not come to me to be cured. An old acquaint- 
ance will drop into my office for my advice and a 
prescription gratis ; or perhaps it is a very good 
friend from whom I cannot take any money. I say 
*I cannot/ though I could very well ; but I must tell 
him at fi,rst that I cannot. He, of course, is per- 
fectly satisfied with my token of friendship and does 
not try to convince me to the contrary. Yes, yes, 

29a 



PARROT GODS 

so it goes with the young physicians, poor devils I 
"My office costs me a lot of money. A telephone, 
of course, I must also have in the house, if not for 
use, at least for show. To advertise yourself in the 
papers is also necessary, for the more frequently 
your address appears in the papers the better it is 
for you.I do not want to be misunderstood by you. 
I do not want you to think that I believe that an ad- 
vertisement will surely bring patients. But for a 
young unmarried doctor it is very necessary to have 
his address quite often in the papers. Who knows, 
perhaps a marriage broker will get interested in you 
and will procure you money and a wife — I beg your 
pardon ; I meant to say a wife with money. Yes, 
the young disciples of Aesculapius are very unfor- 
tunate if they are not rich themselves and there is 
no one to back them and to put them on their feet.'* 
"Well," I replied, as he ceased speaking, "it was 
your desire to become a doctor, although you made a 
nice living as a presser. Now you must take the 
consequences, and be satisfied with a title without 
bread, instead of bread without a title." 

II 
Because of a Piano 
" "V T O nation in the world has so much trouble in 
-L^ marrying its daughters as the Jewish nation. 
If a non-Jewish girl does not want or has not 
the opportunity to marry there is another outlet for 
her — to spend her life in a convent, or she can live 
a life of single blessedness. But that is not the case 
with us Jews. We are very much grieved and al- 
most ashamed if one of our girls remains single. 
The term 'an old maid' is a reproach for us, and 
therefore we are willing to give away everything in 

294 



PARROT GODS 

order to marry off our grown-up daughters." 

Thus spoke my friend Weinblatt in reply to my 
question regarding his family affairs. When I asked 
why he was so pessimistically inclined he continued: 

"I presume you are aware, friend, of all the mis- 
ery a father has to suffer from children nowadays. 
On account of them we must always be ready to 
make compromises and to approve of things which 
are not in accordance with our own wishes. And if 
among your children there are two or three girls 
who have already passed the 'sweet sixteen' period, 
then the demands of the Moloch fashion will almost 
ruin you. A few weeks ago my oldest daughter 
came to me with a new proposition : I should buy 
her a piano 'for a dollar a week,' and my 'better half 
at once fell in with this idea, stating that a piano is 
a good attraction. 

"At first I refused to comply with this request, but 
little by little I was conquered, and the whole space 
of my tiny parlor was given over to a piano. It is 
understood that I was also compelled to engage a 
piano teacher for my daughter. Well, our little 
rooms were always full of music and we ate our 
herring and potatoes with the accompaniment of mu- 
sical tones. 

"A short while later a matchmaker brought us a 
young man who, after a few visits, became my 
daughter's suitor. He used to come to us every 
evening, and my daughter, of course, always treated 
him to a good portion of music. I noticed that many 
times the young man would yawn while listening to 
my daughter's playing, but he never made any re- 
marks. Suddenly we noticed that the young man 

295 



PARROT GODS 

was not calling so often as formerly, and that his 
visits were getting shorter and shorter. Once he 
eame when my daughter was not at home, and I 
started to question him as to why he came so seldom. 
After a little hesitation he confessed that the piano 
was the cause of it. 

" *I come to your house after a hard day's work,* 
he said, *and wish to have a little rest here, and an 
opportunity to talk to your daughter, my future 
wife. But she aways treats me with arias, with 
C"»raltzes and with popular songs. A fine business for 
me! One in a while, well, let her strum, but every 
evening ? — I cannot endure it ! I am nervous al- 
ready !' 

"My daughter learned of the young man's state- 
ment, and at once became offended, seeing in it an 
affront to 'art.' From that day they started to quar- 
rel every time they met. The young man was un- 
able to stand it any longer and left our house with- 
out bidding us good-bye. My daughter's piano 
drove him out of our house for good." 

When I heard my friend's story I felt very sorry 
for him, and I said to myself : "I wonder how many 
more young men his daughter will drive away with 
her piano!" 

III. 
"Doctor" Charlatansky 

ONE morning last week I was sitting at my desk. 
Suddenly I heard a knock at my door. 

"Come in!(" I said, and in came a young man 
of about twenty-five years with a drunkard's face and 
rolled mustache. He wore high Russian boots and 



PARROT GODS 

a new overcoat, under which could be seen an em- 
broidered shirt. 

"Are you Mr. Leavitt?" he asked in a broken Rus- 
sian tbngue, handing me a visiting card bearing the 
inscription, "Rev. Dr. Charlatansky." 

"What can I do for you, sir?" I asked him. 

Instead of answering, he took out of his pocket a 
letter and handed it to me. The letter was very 
complimentary to Dr. Charlatansky, but was also 
full of mistakes, and the signature of the writer, who 
was well known to me, was forged. 

"Where did you study?" I asked him. 

"In Petersgrad," he replied. 

"In Petersgrad? What did you study there?" 

"Philosophy," he answered. 

"Philosophy in Petersburg University?" I ex- 
claimed in astonishment. "Is there then such a 
special branch as philosophy? I also am a little bit 
acquainted with the Petersburg University, and I 
never heard of such a secret." 

"I studied in Petersburg the Semitic and classical 
languages and in Vienna I received the degree of 
Doctor of Philosophy," he insisted. 

"Russian, as I see, you have forgotten already," I 
said, sarcastically. "Would you like to converse in 
Hebrew?" 

"All right!" he exclaimed, and murmured a few 
words. 

"In what language did you speak to me?" I asked. 
"Was it the language of the Hottentots, of the Tar- 
tars, or was it Volapuck, all together?" 

"Will you do something for me?" he asked, ig- 
noring my question. "I am a stranger here. I 

2f7 



PARROT GODS 

have no one to help me." 

"Sir," I said, "Russian and Hebrew you do not 
know ; the letter of introduction which you showed 
me is a forged one; universities you never attended, 
not even a public school, and, therefore, I shall not 
do a thing for you unless you bring me a certificate 
that you are at least an honest man." 

He hastily left my house, and when he was already 
outside I heard him curse me. 

A few days afterward I noticed in a paper that 
there is now in New York a very prominent visitor, 
a rabbi, who accomplished much as a revolutionist 
and who had already served a long term in the 
"Schluesselburg Fortress" ; he is a graduate of Heid- 
elburg University and of Oxford, and his name is 
Charlatansky. On another page of the same paper 
I saw also an announcement that the "famous" Dr. 
Charlatansky and the well known "Prof." Bittergall 
had opened a Hebrew school, where Jewish boys and 
girls would receive a good ana moral education, and 
where they would be taught sixteen languages. 

"Woe, woe, to the children who will receive in- 
struction from *Dr.' Charlatansky!" I said to myself. 
"I sincerely hope that my Jewish brethren will not 
let themselves be fooled by such Charlatanskys, 
whose place is either in an asylum or in Sing Sing. 



w 



IV. 
In a Pawnshop 

ALKING up Grand street he stopped near a 
pawnshop. He looked through the window, 
in which were displayed many things for sale. 

298 



PARROT GODS 

Suddenly his eyes fell upon a watch, and he shivered 
as from fever. 

It was his own watch ! 

Two years ago he pawned it. He had then just 
arrived from Russia and, being penniless, he was 
dragged, as are many of his immigrant brethren, in- 
to the cauldron of misery. He was looking for a 
job, for any job at all, but, alas, he was not able to 
get one. Over his head was a strange heaven, 
sometimes a beautiful, charming heaven, but strange. 
Under him, a strange earth and around him a strange 
atmosphere, strange faces, everything strange. 

"What is to be done! What is to be done?" he 
asked himself many times. 

In the meantime his landlady reminded him that 
he already owed her two months rent and that if he 
did not pay he would have to move at once. 

"Many of my things are already in pawn,*' he said 
to himself. "The only thing left to me is my watch, 
and with it I cannot part. It has become a part of 
my heart." 

This watch was a present from his Rose, from the 
girl so dear to him. It was his only consolation in 
a strange land, among strange people with ice-cold 
hearts. This watch reminded him of better times, 
of happier days. Looking at it, he always thought 
of his Rose, with whom he spent so many happy 
hours far from the noise of the city, in the green 
field, or in the gigantic forest, or near the clear, sil- 
ver-like, infinite Dnieper. 

They used to sit and weave golden dreams. They 
would think of a bright future, of a glorious life. 
The w^orld around them, with its sordid realities, was 

299 



PARROT GODS 

forgotten. A whole year they were happy, until he 
was compelled by circumstances in Russia to leave 
his native land and fly to America. He promised 
his Rose that he would send for her at once, but 
though his desire was great, his pocket was empty. 

Misfortune followed him at every step. 

He looks now at his watch, which is also for sale, 
and his heart yearns for it. He would be willing to 
have his hand cut off in order to get it back, his 
Rose's watch. But he reminds himself that no one 
will give him even a cent for his hand, and from his 
eyes the tears begin to flow, warm tears, bitter tears. 

Many people pass by him, but in their great hurry 
they do not pay the slightest attention to his tear>. 
He stands near the pawnshop window and hh lips 
murmur "Rose!" 

"Do you wish to buy anything?" inquires one of 
the pawnshop clerks, coming out to him. 

"No!" he answers in a muffled tone, and he leaves 
the window with the feeling of one who leaves a 
cemetery, where he has buried a dear, a very dear 
friend. 

V 
Would Help the Tsar 

SOME time ago in New York I received an invita- 
tion to a meeting of a new Zionist society. When 
I arrived and heard the "speech" of the "great 
and beloved orator," and also the name of the 
society : "Zionistic-territorialistic-socialistic-itoistic 
Oiganization,'f I began to feel bad and left the meet- 
ing. 

When I reached Seward Park, to which I went to 
get some "fresh" air, I chose a bench upon which 
were seated two Jews. 

300 



PARROT GODS 

"Did you hear, Itze Mayer, what they are talking 
in New York about Russia ?'f said one of them. 

"What is it, Chaim Moshe, something new?" re- 
plied the other. 

"Sure! And what kind of news? Now we can 
really see that the Almighty is a God of vengence." 

"Well, what is it? Tell me." 

"There is a rumor that Tsar Nicholas has escaped 
from Petersgrad and that he has already been recog- 
nized here, on the Bowery, in a saloon. He was 
dressed in a torn soldier's-uniform, without button? 
and epaulettes. He looked just like a beggar." 

"That's impossible! This rumor is of no conse- 
quence! Why did he escape? Hasn't he enough 
fortresses in which to hide himself? And, if he did 
have to run away, couldn't he have taken a lot of 
money with him?" 

"You ask strange questions, upon my word! 
Now, when the Almighty wanted to punish King 
Solomon, whose rubbish was worth more than 
Nicholas's palaces, didn't He make Solomon a beg- 
gar? And what was the case with Nebuchadnezzar? 
Don't you remember Daniel's story about him ? No 
need of questioning the ways of the Almighty ! Is 
the Lord's hand waxed short?" 

"Perhaps the rumor is true! It serves him right, 
the 'katzap.' Let him also drag a pushcart as we 
del Let him also become a steady customer of 
charitable institutions. Is he any better than the 
Jews who became impoverished on account of the 
pogroms? Is he, the defender of the cross, more of 
a nobleman than the descendants of Abraham, Isaac 
and Jacob ? I'll bet you not ! He deserves it all I 

301 



PARROT GODS 

Gladly will I give him a donation, a whole nickel, as 
I am a Jew. Here will I say, "Here is a donation 
for you, Tsar, and think of it, who deserves more 
credit, you, the instigator of pogroms, or, I, the 
merciful one?' " 

"Indeed, a very good deed, Itze Mayer! A very 
good idea, upon my word! I am the poorest among 
the poor, and, yet, I would myself give him a few 
cents. After all, we mustn't forget that he was a 
Tsar." 

VI. 
His Newspaper 

I met an acquaintance of a chronic, melancholy dis- 
position, and asked him as to his welfare. 

"Very well,j" he answered, and his face glowed 
with joy. 

"What are you doing?" I asked. 

"I am publishing a paper for myself, i. e., I am 
myself the editor, contributor and, also, the mosl 
'constant reader.' " 

"Excuse me, I do not quite understand you. You 
speak in symbols, like that used by the 'modern' 
Jewish writers, and I must unwillingly confess, I do 
not understand such language." 

"All right, I'll talk plainly to you. You know that 
I am a writer, and not a writer of any particular de- 
scription, but one of great versatility." 

"That means that you are a literary hack, a jack of 
all trades?" 

"I write poems, sketches, epigrams, et cetera. 
Now, if one writes, he wishes to be useful to the 
world, and, at the same time, to gain some honor for 
himself. But most of the editors are like murderers. 

302 



PARROT GODS 

pirates, and they simply begrudge me my abilities. 
For instance, I bring a poem to one of the editors. 
A poem, as every one knows, must have rhymes : 
Potatoes — tomatoes, fool — cool, moon — spoon, bright 
— light, and so on. But what does the editor do? 
He begins to explain that a poem must have, beside 
rhymes, a measure called meter. Did you ever hear 
such nonsense? Onions must have a measure, pota- 
toes must have a measure, but poetry, to my under- 
standing, needs neither measure nor weight. It is 
free as a goat in Brownsville. I have suffered much, in- 
deed, from the editors. As last a very good idea 
struck me. I found out that for a very small price 
any one can now buy a Jewish typewriter, which, on 
a small scale, can do the work of a printing press. 
So I bought one, and now I publish on my type- 
writer a daily paper called 'In Spite of the Editors.' 
I write everything myself, from alpha to omega, and 
all my customers (you know, I am a customer-ped- 
dler), receive from me a copy of my paper, and all 
of them are very much pleased with my 'literary 
productions.' " 

"Your idea is a very practical one," I said to my 
pedler-writer, "and if I were rich, I would buy many, 
many such machines as your typewriter, and I would 
present them to a great many of the Jewish 'writers/ 
with a request that they themselves should become 
editors, i. e., they should publish on these machines 
their literary efforts and send them to their friends 
and admirers as a token of friendship and love.'' 

303 



PARROT GODS 

VII. 
The New Lions 

/^ NE day while leaving my house I saw what was 
^-^ almost a riot. 

"What happened?" I asked a by-stander. 

"You know nothing as yet?" several of them asked 
me at once. 

"No. I know nothing," I replied. 

"Our landlord is a murderer! He has not a bit 0f 
a Jewish soul in him !" exclaimed a woman of thirty- 
odd years, pressing to her breast a babe that cried 
and asked for something in its childish language. 
We pay him so much rent, $16 a month, for three 
small rooms on the fourth floor. Sixteen hard- 
earned dollars ! It ought to be enough, don't you 
think so? But he, the parasite, the scoundrel, is not 
satisfied yet." 

"What is the wonder?" shrieked another woman, 
lean as a stick and without a drop of blood in her 
pale face. "What is the wonder? In the old coun- 
try — I mean in Sumyachitz, where he was born-— this 
fine fellow, he was a horse thief. Every one knew 
Mot'ke, the thief. No respectable person would have 
anything to do with him there. But here in Ameri- 
ca he thinks he is the whole thing. He became 
president of the society 'J^zmach Purkoney' and vice 
president of the society 'Kol-bey-nick.' He owns al- 
ready a few houses and fleeces his tenants without 
mercy." 

One of the three things for which, according to the 
Proverbs, the earth is disquieted is when a servant 
reigneth," exclaimed one of the neighbors, a Me- 
lamed from the old country and a presser here. 

304 



PARROT GODS 

"But why must we suffer from him? We can tell 
him: *We don't need you and we don't need your 
rooms !" 

"But why did he suddenly raise the rent?" I asked. 

"Don't you know?" replied a girl of about eight- 
een, the presser's daughter, in her homemade Eng- 
lish. "Secuse me, mister, you must be, I suppose, 
one of the new 'tenements,' who have just moved in. 
Yes? All right, I will then explain you everything. 
A week ago the landlord painted the steps of this 
house and painted at the entrance two lions. Lions, 
let there be lions! No one of the neighbors asked 
for them and no one will be benefited by them. But 
he, the rogue, immediately came to each of the 'tene- 
ments' and said : 'Now that my house has become 
fancier on account of the new paint and of the two 
lions, which are a decoration for the house, I want 
every family in my house to pay me rent, at least one 
dolalr a month more. The lions demand it.' " 

"The dog demands it, not the lions I" screamed a 
young woman. "We should all move from here; let 
the lions remain here, they alone, that is all!*' 

"You are right, perfectly right," several tenants 
replied. "We'll move. We'll move! Let the dog» 
our 'honorable' landlord, remain with his lions!" 

VIII. I 

A So-Called '^Jewish Mother" 
An old acquaintance invited me to tea. When I 
reached his house, he gave me a cordial reception and 
introduced me to his wife. While we were sipping 
our tea, she questioned me with the manner of a 
Russian "Ispravnik" in a Recruiting Office at con- 
scription time. After I had answered all her ques- 

305 



PARROT GODS 

tions she remained silent for some time, then asked 
i^hat was my occupation. 

'*I am a Hebrew writer," was my answer. 

**A Hebrew writer!" she shrieked, and her long 
nose began to go up into the air. 

"Why are you so surprised, my dear Nelly?" my 
friend asked her, in a vexed tone. 

"You ask me that? Do you forget that we are in 
America, and not in Palestine? One must be era — . 
I mean unpractical — to cultivate a Palestine language 
here — a language which brings no profit, a language 
which ought to be studied only by rabbis and 
schochtim, but not by intelligent people." 

"And yet, our son will study Hebrew! We are 
Jews, and every Jew is in duty bound to know the 
language of his people!" my friend cried, excitedly. 

*'I beg your pardon ! Harry shall not study He- 
brew! I do not want his little head filled with He- 
brew prayers, with foolishness. . . I do not want — " 

"Don't speak so loudly; you know that we have a 
guest." 

"Well, what of it? I say freely that Hebrew is 
nonsense." 

"I must go," I said, starting from my place. "I 
must finish a Hebrew article." 

I left my friend's house sadly, thinking, "She, too, 
is a Jewish mother!" 

IX. 
A So-Called "Writer" 

You may meet him almost any morning on East 
Broadway or Canal Street. He is forty-four or 
forty-five years old ; his scanty beard covers a pim- 
pled face which looks impudent and stupid. He does 

306 



PARROT GODS 

not walk as other people do, but he runs, holding a 
cane in one hand and his "writings" in the other. 
Perceiving an author, he runs toward him, takes hold 
of his sleeve and cries out: 

"I am glad to meet you. You know what A, the 
writer, says of you? He mocked at you. He said 
that your articles and poems are good for nothing; 
he—" 

"I have no time to listen to calumny," the writer 
replies, and hastens away. 

For a few minutes the calumniator scratches his 
ear, then seeing B., the writer, passing by he stops 
him, saying: 

"The Almighty Himself sent you here ! I tell you, 
you must guard against the writer C. He insults 
you, covers you with dirt. He says you are a Jere- 
boam, a Titus a God-knows what ! I am your sin- 
cere friend, so I warn you to look out ! By the way, 
would you like to buy my work? It will not cost you 
much. You know how I write. I assure you that 
Mendel Mocher Seforim (Abramovitz) is not so 
good a writer as I am. My father-in-law and my 
mother-in-law are delighted with my style. My 
pupils revere me as a god. Probably, you have seen 
my biography and picture? I had great difficulty 
in obtaining them, for they cost a couple of dollars, 
and my wife is a miserly woman. But I don't care 
for the expense, I want my enemies to burst with 
envy, and die of grief!" 

"Let me alone!" angrily says the detained writer. 
I do not feel like listening to your slander, anyhow. 
If you stop me again I will pull your nose, as surely 

307 



PARROT GODS 

as I am a Jew ! You ought to be ashamed, you idler, 
you charlatan!" 

The so-called "Writer" with the pimply face runs 
away to Hester Street, buys a herring there, which 
he wraps in his "writings," and darts to a newspaper 
editor's office. 

X. 
A So-Called "Actor" 

An actor ordered a play of me. Having written two 
acts, I took them to him to read them to him. I reached 
his residence at noon, but he was still asleep in bed. 
I waited an hour till the "great artist" honored me 
with a reception. 

We sat down to read. For about ten minutes he 
listened with attention to what I read, then suddenly 
rising from his seat, he began to walk up and down 
the room rather moodily. 

"What's the matter?" I asked him. 

"You ask me what is the matter? Why in your 
play there are words such as neither I nor the audi- 
ence could ever understand." 

"For example?" 

"The Doctor, your hero, talks of a kind of creature 
called Tatolologogy/ the devil alone knows what 
that is ! Why should I break my teeth in pronoun- 
cing such an abracadabra?" 

"It is the way in which you pronounce the word 
that breaks your teeth. If you would simply say 
"pathology," as I have written — " 

"I don't want such words !" he screamed, not giv- 
i me a chance to finish the sentence. 

I promised to use another word which he would 
be able to pronounce without difficulty and continued 

308 



PARROT GODS 

the reading. I went through the first act without 
interruption and I was just going to begin the second 
act — 

"Don't read any more!" he cried out in his bass 
voice. "I will not buy your play ; it is no good ; I 
won't have it !',' 

"Why?" 

"You ask me why? It seems that you don't as 
yet understand the stage or the real art of the stage." 

"What!" 

"How can you write a whole act — mark you well, 
a whole act ! — and not have one of your heroes use 
either gun powder, or poison, or even a simple knife. 
No, this is no play 1" 

"In Heaven's name! What are you talking about? 
Is it a law in the art code that a play must be filled 
with all kinds of violent death?" 

*'I need no code. I am an artist with a name, and 
I make my own laws. Have you seen what the Eng- 
lish papers write about me? Let me tell you briefly 
that not even Shakespeare understood the stage as 
well as I." 

"Shakespeare and you? What a fine conjunc- 
tion!" 

"What, you don't like it? You are a greenhorn, 
I will not listen any longer to your play. I will not 
buy it. When I pay, I like to have the **merchan- 
dise" according to my taste." 

"To your taste? That would be something seri- 
ous." 

"Never mind! There are enough playwrights 
who execute my wishes. If I tell them to hang the 
heroes, they hang them, and if I tell them to poicnn 

809 



PARROT GODS 

the heroes, they poison them. I am the boss, as long 
as I pay the money; you understand?" 

"Oh, I understand, very well !" I said. 

I left hurriedly. I had a violent headache. With 
tearful eyes and throbbing heart I muttered: "Poor 
Art, poor Art ! how insulted art thou by ignorant 
so called "Actors!" 



310 



s 



SOME CHARACTER SKETCHES 

The Cause of it All 

EVERAL months ago, on a Friday evening, 
our small apartments were filled with a 
number of guests of various characterists. 
There were young folks and aged, conserva- 
tives and radicals, Zionists, and other "ists." 
The legendary '^additional spirit," and the dishes 
of Sabbath semed to have influenced us very 
favorably, for we were all gay, frolicsome and jovial. 
Of those present a great many sipped tea, making 
expert tests as to its quality ; others hummed some 
popular national songs. A number of our visitors 
were deeply interested in discussions about Territor- 
ialism, the Bund and the hooligans, while some mere- 
ly killed time by talking generally. The representa- 
tives of the fair sex had ''new styles," "jewelry," and 
the deportment of Mrs. X. and Y, as their topics of 
debate. 

One of our callers, an ardent lover of tea, though 
a Rumanian, not a Russian, was attentively engaged 
in emptying the contents of his teacup, and at the 
same time drumming with his fingers on the table 
and voicing repeatedly the words, "The East, the 
East," which constitute the ending of a popular 
Zionist air. All at once the fellow had risen, vacated 
his seat, and was seem among the radicals. 

"Here in America," he started, "many of you wise 
fellows attempt to discredit the Talmud ; you are 
constantly bringing up question? a? to its validity; 

311 



PARROT GODS 

you can not perceive the possibility for instance, of 
the statement that an axle of a wagon was thr 
cause of the destruction of the great city of Bether. 
Well, I shall relate a fact that I personally witnessed 
a few days ago. You are aware of my occupation. 
I am *a sacred toor (keli Kodosh), a cantor, shochet, 
a rabbi, or, as it is summarily alluded to, a reverend. 
In this capacity I was called upon to act as the legal 
functionary at the marriage ceremony of my neigh- 
bor's daughter. On my arrival I found a few people 
in stove-pipe hats walking up and down, and a trio 
of 'musical artists' rendering an ancient song, that 
appeared to have originated and been played at the 
time when the Polish Kingdom under Sobieski was 
in blossom. 

"I then began to search about for the host, when a 
Tound-bellied, red-bearded individual approached me 
and said : "Please, Rabbi, get ready, make the bald- 
achin and let the matter come to an end. I am the 
bride's father, your neighbor from the top floor." 

^'Then let me have the baldachin" I murpiured. 

^'We are not provided with a ready-made one; 
you'll have to prepare one." 

I at once got a "tales" and asked four tall Jews to 
act as supporting pillars, and I called in a somewhat 
elevated tone for the groom, when a bass voice re- 
plied : 'Here I am, the bride-groom,' and a young 
man with a pock-marked face made his appearance 
through the crowd. 'What is your name, Sir?' I 
asked. 'I'll not tell you' exclaimed the young man 
in angry mood. 'I dislike 'monkey-business.' My 
father-in-law, the red fellow, who addressed you a 
■few moments ago, has promised me as dowry a 

312 



PARROT GODS 

stove and many other articles ; concering the other 
commodities, I care not, but upon the stove, I must 
insist, for as time passes on, my father-in-law will 
argue that since summer is about approaching, there 
is no need for a stove, and I shan't like to give in 
to this red one.' A tumult ensued. The human 
pillars left their position, the tales was taken down 
and I left the room. What followed I cannot tell. 
I have not been the functionary of this ceremony. 
And what led to this derangement? Was not the 
stove the cause of it all? Oh! America! America! 
a golden country, indeed. 

II 
Tolstoi's Popularity 

Among my kinsmen in New York, I met one who, 
in the "lingo" of the "comrades," may be spoken of 
as "a specific individual." He is of the class that 
know not that they know not. In this latter quality 
he exceeds the "well-known radical orator," who 
makes historical assertions which are as exact as the 
assurances of Witte, or the statements of "Pravi- 
tyelstvenny Vyestnik." But it is not these qualities 
I intend to dwell upon. There are other qualities 
that stamp my kinsman as **an eccentric personage," 
who looks to gain notoriety, through "extremes" and 
curious views. 

Several days ago I entered an East Broadway 
cafe, where I had to meet an acquaintance. The 
place was packed. It required considerable pains- 
taking to find a seat in the long, narrow place. The 
atmosphere of the room was redolent of cheap cigar- 
ettes and the still cheaper phraseology of the radi- 
cals. 

313 



PARROT GODS 

I asked for a cup of coffee, which was served to 
me. While drinking the coffee, I shut my eyes so 
as not to notice the "additions," that are apt to occur 
in the coffee. 

Of a sudden I was startled by a familiar "hello." 
My eyelids opened, and before my eyes, the counten- 
ance of the above-mentioned kinsman appeared. He 
gulped dov,^n a glass of tea a la Russe and perspired. 

"How are you, sir?" I directed my inquiry to him. 
"How is one to be?" he quickly replied in the form 
of question, as the usual custom is with such as he — 
"the masters, the capitalists, prosper and enjoy life, 
while we, their bread-winners, their sole supporters, 
are driven to starvation." 

"Have you any news to relate?" I interrupted. 

"Not exactly, but I should like to hear your opin- 
ion in a matter concerning Tolstoi's ability," con- 
tinued my kinsman. 

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

"Explain, please, the cause of Tolstoi's popularity. 
A friend of mine who left a few moments ago en- 
deavored to impress upon me that Tolstoi became 
popular through his literary work — through his 
writings. But I take no bluffs. I emphatically 
deny this." 

"Of course his writings made him popular, as he 
is considered the greatest of the great in the literary 
ranks of the world in this century," was my reply." 

My kinsman's anger was now in full sway. "You 
all talk mere bosh, exaggerated nonsense. In our 
radical circles we meet much greater and more ad- 
vanced writers, and yet I — " 

"You mean taller ones," I interrupted. 

314 



PARROT GODS 

"Do not interrupt me like an uncivilized conserva- 
tive," he exclaimed. "I am quite sure that my asser- 
tions are accurate and certain." 

"Well, how, according to your opinion, did Tol- 
stoi really attain his popularity?" I asked. 

"The people got to know of Tolstoi's name through 
his well-worked scheme of advertising by putting his 
name on a brand of cigarettes," he responded in a 
very sincere tone. "Place the name of no matter 
who, of the least known men, upon an article that is 
extensively and readily sold and his popularity is 
surely established," he shouted triumphantly. 

I observed my friend very closely and noticing, by 
the absence of the slightest trace of a smile on his 
face, that he was very much in earnest about it. I 
vacated my seat, paid my bill and rushed into the 
street, so that I might give vent to my emotions. 

III. 
The Greatest Wonder 

After a perusal of Huxley's "Biological Research- 
es" lasting for hours, I left my home with a view 
of getting some out-of-doors exercise. It was twi- 
light. The sun had lost its luminosity and brilliancy, 
and was just about to set. On the boundaries of the 
firmament played a reddish hue, peculiar to the skies 
after a conflagration. It was the hour of meditation. 
Tramping from one street into another back and 
forth, I meditated about returning home. 

Suddenly my meditations were interrupted by a 
recollection of an appointment with one of my ac- 
quaintances for that evening. I immediately pro- 
ceeded toward my friend's house. On my arrival I 
met a number of people. A few were engaged at 

S15 



PARROT GODS 

playing cards, chess, and other games. In a corner 
of the reception room at a small table several peo- 
ple were sitting and discussing quietly. Noticing 
me, they addressed me as follows : 

"Would you like to act as judge in deciding a 
problem for us?" 

"Tell me the nature of the problem and I shall 
see if I am able to decide the same,'* I replied. 

"Right you are, sir," nearly all exclaimed, and in- 
vited me to join their company. I complied with 
their desire. 

"We agreed," one of the assembled began, "that 
every one of us was to tell a marvel, that might be 
considered as tbe greatest of our age ; whosoever suc- 
ceeds in presenting the greatest prodigy is to receive 
a prize. I related an occurrence that is in my opin- 
ion the most marvelous of our age. I have been in- 
timately acquainted with a Jewish writer, who had 
won name, fame and a host of admirers. From this 
litterateur I never heard a single word of self-praise. 
On the contrary, he constantly lauded other good 
writers, and spoke with great enthusiasm of his con- 
temporaries, new talents in the literary field. Now, 
own up, is this not most wonderful?" 

"That is a rare occurrence, indeed, but let,'s hear 
what the others have to tell," I replied. 

"I again know some very wonderful facts," the 
second one started to say, "about a Reform Rabbi, 
who never ate oysters, who was a member of a Zion- 
istic society,and who was able to read Hebrew flu- 
ently. Now, friends, say what you will, I for my 
part cannot see where a greater wonder ever exist- 
ed." 

316 



PARROT GODS 

"It is really a great miracle, friend," said the 
third one, "but what I intend to speak of is certainly 
the greatest of all wonders. Now, listen attentively. 
I knew of a girl, the daughter of very wealthy par- 
ents, whose fame is spread all over town. She was 
as fair as the sun, mild as a dove, and good as an 
angel. To this girl men of various callings were 
proposed, such as doctors, lawyers, engineers and 
wealthy merchants. She shut the door on all these 
suitors and kept company with a poor Jewish poet, 
who owned all in all a small collection of published 
poems. In spite of the threatenings of her father, 
the scorn of her acquaintances and the disregard of 
her wealthy companions, she married the poet, and I 
am sure that she still loves him, and perhaps more 
than ever." 

"If all you have related is true, if it is an actual 
fact, not a mere creation of your imaginative pow- 
er," I addressed the third speaker, "then the prize 
ought to be awarded to you, for what you related is 
positively the greatest wonder of our twentieth cen- 
tury, a wonder that may be referred to as a raie 
rarity." 

After a brief dispute, the contestants all concurred 
with my view, and my third friend was the lucky 
recipient of the prize. 

IV. 
You Can't Bluff Me 

My attention was drawn to a Hebrew pamphlet 
lying on the editor's desk. The brochure was print- 
ed in short lines and verses and many punctuations 
adorned the pages, and because of these reasons the 
author wished to call it poetry. 

317 



PARROT GODS 

"Poetry! Let it pass for poetry, then," thought 
I, for time has taught me patience and endurance, 
and as I am a child of the race whose badge is suffer- 
ing, I have long ago accustomed myself to this 
misery, too. The reading of the **poems" necessi- 
tated meditation and deep thought over the meanirig 
of strange jaw-breaking words, which our philologi- 
cally-endowed poet has discovered, perfected and in- 
troduced into usage. A great many of these terms 
were polysyllabic, and of the kind that induce hys- 
teria at sight. As I read, the door opened in haste 
and a well-built man entered the office 

'What do you wish, sir?" inquired the red-headed 
office boy. 

"Should like to get your paper of Sunday, Monday 
and Tuesday," replied the stranger, and diving into 
his pocket produced three pennies, which, owing to 
their lustre, seemed to have just cnt^^*^ from the mint. 

"Is it last week's paper you want?" asked the 
youngster politely. 

"Why?" Why from last week?" shouted the 
man, "I want this week's papers, and let me have 
them !" 

"How, sir? It is not possible. It is Sunday to- 
day ; hov>^ can you expect to get Monday's and Tues- 
day's newspapers? Why, they must be printed 
first." 

"Don't be so smart," clamored the man. You 
think I'm a greenhorn ? No, sir ! I come from 
Poughkeepsie. You can't bluff me! I know your 
editorial tricks, your journalistic schemes and your 
office secrets. I'm not a greenhorn, all right." 

318 



PARROT GODS 

"What are you talking about?" queried the red- 
head. 

"You don't understand. I will explain. I have 
been informed that you people print all the week's 
supply of newspapers once weekly, making the com- 
plete week's papers all at once in a single day. Why 
then should I await your paper every day in Pough- 
keepsie, when I am now in New York, and knowing 
your secret, can easily obtain the few copies of the 
paper of next Monday and Tuesday? This will cause 
the greenhorns of my town to wonder. Now hurry, 
and let me have the copies of the paper, as I have a 
great many transactions on hand, and I must be in 
haste, so as not to be late for the train. Do you 
charge, perhaps two cents for a new copy? All 
right! Business is business. Here's the extra 
money." 

The red-headed boy was howling with mirth by 
this time, and I laughed heartily with him. The sub- 
ject of our sketch grew very wrathy, and exclaimed 
loudly, "Do you also laugh at Jews? You are as 
had as these Zozelists. He shut the door with a 
bang and disappeared. 

V 

Papa, When Will You Celebrate Your Confirmation? 

A friend of mine,Americanized to an extent as to 
no longer recognize his old friends who oft helped 
him in need, invited me to a comfirmation party, his 
son having attained the age of thirteen. 

My friend is quite a wealthy real-estate broker, 
and owns, besides his own real estate, a daughter who 
is not young in age, and whose beauty is not such 
as to make her the prize-winner. 

319 



PARROT GODS 

Since it has been my friend's intention to display 
his wealth, and perhaps, catch on this occasion a 
cavalier for his maiden, he arranged a "kingly festi- 
val." 

The invited guests had partaken of the edibles and 
drinks with an extraordinary appetite, enjoying the 
party for two causes — first, owing to the palatability 
of the courses, and secondly because they well knew 
how little pleasure their eating and drinking afford- 
ed the host in his heart and soul. 

After the completion of the meal, the confirmed 
rose and rattled off the oration which his teacher had 
repeatedly gone over with him, and which was as 
insipid in style, as a great many "realistic" dramas 
produced on the Jewish stage. 

He then triumphantly occupied the seat adjoining 
that of his teacher. But, as it seems, it was not our 
lot to rest in peace. My friend had now arisen, and 
began to speak. What he was driving at I could 
not comprehend very well, and it seemed to me that 
the speaker was dull of comprehension of his own 
oration. But the concluding part of his "oration" I 
well heard, for this was not plainly spoken, but clam- 
ored. "My son/' he shouted, "you have been con- 
firmed, and from today you are bound to the duty 
of the daily using the phylacteries." 

The entire audience applauded the speaker — though 
not for his oration, but for his excellent meal, and 
v/ere instantly around the covered table, in order to 
continue at the feast. But, unexpectedly arose the 
confirmed, who appeared to be a very simple young- 
ster, and directed to his father the following query: 

"Papa, when will you be confirmed?" 

320 



PARROT GODS 

"What do you mean?" asked his father. 

"You stated/' began the boy, **that one confirmed is 
obliged to use phylacteries. I should like to know, 
therefore, when you'll begin to use phylacteries. You 
know, papa, there is a great bother in the use of phy- 
lacteries ; you have to know how to wind the '^straps," 
how to tie around the fingers, and other troubles. 
But when you begin to use the phylacteries your- 
self, then you will teach me how to do it." 

My friend turned his eyes downward; the guests 
laughed heartily and continued their drinking and 
toasting "Lehaim." 



321 



THE "PHILANTHROPIST" 

THE Almighty sits on his throne surrounded by 
columns of fire, and white-winged angels com- 
posing the Celestial Council full of reverence 
and fear stand near-by awaiting His orders. 
It is now quite a busy time in Heaven. 
Newcomers are arriving every minute. The 
Angel of Death is tired out from steady 
work. Some of the arrivals have a very short trial 
and are sent to the places they are consigned to — 
Hell or Paradise — at once. But when a doubtful 
case occurs then the only one who can cut the Gor- 
dian knot is the Heavenly Chief Justice — God. 
There are now three doubtful cases in the hands of 
the Celestial Council, and the defendants are two 
poets and a wealthy man who calls himself a "phil- 
anthropist." 

One of the poets is a pale young man with very 
expressive eyes, full of charm and goodness. He is 
the author of a small voume of lyric poems which ex- 
hibit indisputable proofs that he was a born poet. 
He understood the dumb language of Mother Nature. 
He was quick-eared to the murmur of the streamlets, 
to the whisper of the roses and to the prayers of the 
birds. His soul was in harmony with everything 
good, noble and inspiring. But he had not been un- 
derstood and appreciated by his fellowmen, and his 
whole life (and how short it was I) was a heavy chain 
of misery, poverty and grief. 

Now, being in the "World of Truth" he desires to 
be rewarded for all his sufferings in life. He does 

323 



PARROT GODS 

not want much. He will be satisfied if only a little 
place be given to him in Paradise, where he will be 
able to continue his poetical activities, where undis- 
turbed he can dream his old sweet dreams. But the 
Celestial Council do not want to grant him a place 
in Paradise; they are of the opinion that the poet 
had been already rewarded while alive, having found 
real satisfaction and great pleasure in his writings, 
and making himself immortal for future generations. 
After the poet's case, however, had been laid before 
the Almighty, one of the Heavenly clerks was order- 
ed to escort the poet to Paradise and to give him a 
place of honor amongst its inhabitants. 

"Who is next?" cried out one of the angels. 

"Another poet," was the answer. 

"Oh, Lord!" began one of the angels, the Heaven- 
ly district-attorney. "I have no objection to your 
first decision, but I shall be greatly disappointed if 
the same verdict is rendered in this case. This de- 
fendant has written his poems in the most obscure 
language; there is no construction, no technique, no 
rhythm in them ; his poetry bears the signs of prespir- 
ation, not of inspriation. He was trying to please the 
lowest tastes of the public; he looked for popularity, 
for notoriety, for a sensation. There is not an ounce 
of real poetry in his whole scribbling. He was not 
a poet by the grace of the muses, but was always 
writing rhymes at the order of some publishers. 
And he was always paid for his outpourings ! Why, 
oh Lord, I pray, should such a man enjoy the Heaven- 
ly Peace? Why should such a man enter the Gates 
of the Righteous Ones? Almighty! I object!" 

And the decision of the Lord was that the quasi- 

324 



PARROT GODS 

poet should be given a place in the lobby which 
separates Paradise and Hell. 

"The last one," a voice cried out. And a fat man 
with the face of a satisfied parvenu and with eyes 
full of arrogance and vulgarity approached God's 
throne. 

"I am a benefactor, a philanthropist," he began to 
say before he was even asked. 

"What have you done in the way of philanthropy?" 
asked Sandalphon in a sarcastic tone. 

"I have done much, very much in this line. I gave 
eighteen cents a month to a Talmud Torah ; eighteen 
cents a month to a Jewish hospital ; eighteen cents a 
month to the home for the aged ; eighteen cents a 
month to an orthodox congregation, where my father 
was a member, and $18.00 semi-annually to a reform 
congregation to which my wife and I belonged. Yes, 
I am indeed a philanthropist!" 

"What did you accomplish the last day of your 
life?" asked the angel. 

"Passing by a widow with her two babies I gave 
her five cents, and to each of the babies two cents ; 
then I met a blind mendicant and I gave him three 
cents ; then I came across a twelve-year-old boy who 
was wheeling his lame father in a little wagon, and I 
gave each one of them two cents, and all this benev- 
olence I did in one day, mind you. Isn't that great?" 

"Yon Vs-ere a very rich man," exclaimed God, "you 
enjoyed life to the full, you had enough of everything, 
and you are not ashamed to boast that you spent in 
one day sixteen whole pennies ! Isn't that a shame ! 
Isn't that a disgrace! Gabriel, take out from my 
treasury sixteen cents and hand them over to this 

325 



PARROT GODS 

'philanthropist' and at once take him out of my sight. 
To the Devil with him! Hey, Satan, Lilith, Samoel, 
take him into your Dark Realm. His place is there!" 
And the "philanthropist" was taken away in the 
midst of great laughter. And the Heavens resound- 
ed with a sweet hymn "Hallelujah." 



326 



ISRAEL AND IVAN 

AT six in the morning I awoke. The night had 
not passed away; light and darkness skir- 
mished. A melancholy cloud covered the 
world, which was still adreaming. But in a few 
minutes the sky became blue and clear, the sun shone 
and chased the night away. 

Rays of light stole into my small chamber through 
a window, like frolickers making zigzags on the walls 
and lighting the map of Palestine and the portrait 
of Smolenskin, which hung thereon. I lay in my bed 
half awake. Closer I wrapped the blanket around 
me, and sank into a reverie. 

Fantasy, which knows not place or time, carried 
me away to an old graveyard, where my childhood 
days are buried, my sweet dreams, my hopes — and I 
am surrounded by the neighboring corpses. 

I am eight years old. I am in "cheder" under the 
instruction of Reb Baruch. My schoolmates and I 
are seated around a large oak table. The master is 
quiet, not a word is uttered. His shirt sleeves are 
rolled up to his elbows and his hairy arms, which 
are as thin as splinters, fill us with fearsome im- 
pressions. 

Now and then, he wipes his face with the "Talith 
Koton," the fringes of which are blackened by con- 
stant dragging on the floor. 

Near the brick oven sits the Rabbi's wife feeding 
their only goat. 

"Now, my children," the Rabbi exclaims, "take 
your 'gmorahs' ; we will repeat yesterday's lesson." 

327 



PARROT GODS 

Each of us took a "gmorah/' "Well/* said the 
Rabbi to one of my classmates, "commence!" 

My mate's eyes, that were as black as black cher- 
ries, shone; his cheeks deepened in color, and with a 
special tone he commenced: "Shorr shenogach es 
haporoh" (an ox that gored a cow). 

We joined him, and the "cheder" was filled with 
many different tones. 

The "cheder" vanished, and another scene appear- 
ed before me. 

I am fifteen years old. I have left the "cheder". 
I have said my last good-bye to the sages of the Tal- 
mud. A student comes to my home to teach me the 
subjects that are necessary for those desirous of 
entering the fourth-year gymnasium. 

"Madam," says my instructor to my mother, "you 
may prepare your son for the gymnasium, as he is 
fully capable of entering.*' 

"Who knows? We are Jews, everything is forbid- 
den to us. Every drunkard, every good-for-nothing, 
if he only wears a cross is fully welcome to all ; but 
we are Jews in exile and merely tolerated in Russia," 
she answered. 

A few weeks passed by. I took the examination. 
I answered all questions satisfactorily. Soon, soon, 
I shall be a student ; I shall also wear a uniform, and 
shall be like Ivan who calls me ironically, "Jew,? and 
who treats me v/ith a stone occasionally. I will be 
as good as any of the Ivans, who laugh at me; soon 
I shall be able to study — with these encouraging 
thoughts I grew stronger. 

My mother's prophecy came to pass ; all my plans 
became soap bubbles. "There is no room for your 

328 



PARROT GODS 

son," said the Director to my mother. "I cannot 
help it!'^ I did not understand the Director's words 
then. What does he mean; "there is no room.'* 
There is enough room for one hundred more, and 
there is not room for only one? But the fact that was 
strange to me when a child is fully plain to me now; 
still I ask: Why is there no room for Jewish child 
ren? 

I lie in bed and think. My room becomes lightei 
and lighter. The sun had risen. It is time for me to 
rise. But how pleasant is sleep, I think. I will sleep 
a little longer, ten or fifteen minutes and no more. 
I close my eyes and dream. 

"I buy old clothes !" was the cry that aroused me. 

And that voice of my old acquaintance, Israel, 
the rag man, split my heart in twain. Methinks 
this voice that rings so tragic is a great protest 
against our social life. 

Although first impressions are the strongest, still 
the voice of Israel, makes as great an impression 
upon me at all times as the first; and when I hear 
this agonized voice, my heart breaks in fragments, 
and it awakens in me thoughts of the miserable con- 
dition of poor Israel, made a ragman by mankind. 

I think — my soul is surrounded with darkness 
and my eyes overflow. **Jew exploiter!" I suddenly 
hear a loud voice: **Is it not enough that you cheat 
our brethern in the market? Must you intrude into 
my hotise?" 

This voice awakened me. Quickly I arose, dress- 
ed and walked into the street. The day was clear 
and warm, the heavens as clear as the tears of a 
babe; the sun smiling upon the world's countenance. 

329 



PARROT GODS 

Near the house where we lived people were convers- 
ing and a tumultous sound filled the air. The one 
that raised his voice above all was Ivan Ivanovitch 
Durniovin, our landlord. He was red-faced and fat- 
bellied; his nose red and covered with pimples; his 
hair black and heavy. He spoke loud. His eyes 
glowed like blazing coals in the dark, and his mouth 
was filled with foam. 

The pale, worn-out ragman, Israel, stood near him, 
shivering. In one hand he clutched old clothes and 
in the other overshoes. 

"Why do you scold?" I asked Ivanovitch. 

"Your Jew has cheated me." 

"Who? Israel? He is poor, but honest," I replied. 

"Who is honest? Your Jew?" exclaimed Ivan 
Ivanovitch angrily. "No, you are mistaken ; he i» 
neither poor nor honest. He daily idles away his 
time and cheats our brethern." 

"What are you saying?" I asked. "Israel buys 
and sells old clothes daily; he walks from house to 
house ;in summer he stifles and in winter he freezes, 
and what does he earn? Only a few pennies, and 
that not always ; often he comes home and does not 
bring bread, and he and his family hunger." 

"Your defense is unnecessary. I know you Jews ; 
you are parasites, exploiters and thieves." 

"I understand," I sarcastically answered, "you 
must be a steady reader of the anti-Semitic papers." 

"Two weeks ago there came to me that parasite, 
your Israel, and bought a black pair of pants, which 
were nearly new, and a coat for which I paid twenty- 
five rubles ; and can you imagine how much he paid 

330 



PARROT GODS 

for them? Only three rubles, not more! Don't 

you think I justly call him parasite?" 

"He did not compel you to sell it to him, did he?" 

**He persuaded me ; he swore upon the health of his 
wife and children that he could not possibly pay 
more for them." 

"Who told you that they are worth more?" 

"Stepanof told me." 

"If you wish Mr. Durniovin," spoke up Israel, 
who had been silent until now, I will fetch the bar- 
gain back to you, as no one cares to buy them." 

"What?" exclaimed Durniovin, "did you not sell 
them? Stepanof informed me that Ignatz Petrovich 
paid you ten rubles for them." 

"If you disblieve me," answered Israel, "I will 
bring them to you." And Israel went off after them. 

"That thief will not return; he has escaped," was 
the sneering remark of Durniovin. 

"He will return," I answered. He will return!" 

The heavens were blue ; numberless and varishaped 
and tinted clouds sailed along the horizon. The sun's 
rays came down in the form of golden threads; the 
air was fragrant and invigorating; the birds that in- 
habit the garden near our house were singing, and 
their melody awakened all the noble, tender feelings 
of the listener. 

I was sad. The birds' singing aroused in me 
rnany a sorrowful thought. Israel earns his money 
honestly, still he is nicknamed by the drunken Ivan 
"parasite," "exploiter." 

"Oh, Heavenly Father! Does he deserve it? Oh, 
Israel, Israel ! How poor and forsaken thou art !" 

*Are you still here?" — the voice of Israel dis- 

331 



« 



PARROT GODS 

turbed my train of thought. In his hand he clutch- 
ed Durniovin's coat and trousers. **I am very tired," 
he said again. "I walked to rapidly. However, 
God is just!" 

"Now, Israel," said Dumiovin, coming from the 
house in a drunken state, *'did you bring my clothes ?" 

"Here they are. I will thank you a thousand times 
if you return me the three rubles." pleaded Israel. 

"What? I am not a Jew, who buys and sells rags." 

"Do you know, Mr. Durniovin, I will call Stepanof, 
it may be he will pay more for your goods." 

No, No ! I do not want that," screeched Durniovin. 
"I do not want to have anything to do with you. 
Get you hence!" 

"I see," I said to Durniovin, "that you made up 
the story about Stepanof, as the other false accu- 
sations are created by the other Ivans like you, 
against the Jews." 

"All of you are impudent and parasites," scream- 
ed Ivan Ivanoyich, angrily : "You eat our bread and 
drink our blood; for every Passover Feast you slay 
Christian children and dip your unleavened bread in- 
to our blood. You are leeches, parasites and rob- 
bers!" 

Ivan Ivanovich walked away, cursing every Jew. 

"Why are you unhappy, my friend?" I inquired of 
Israel after Ivan left us. 

"I am unhappy because my wife is sick, the child- 
ren have no food and I have not earned one penny 
today ; and then to hear all these Ivans curse our 
people." 

"Have hope, my friend," I cheered Israel ; "We had 
Pharaoh, Haman, Spanish Inquisitors and many 

332 



PARROT GODS 

more like these! We are rid of them; we may be 
sure that from the present Pharaohs and Hamans we 
shall also be freed and we'll add to our list of holi- 
days new Purims and Passovers-l*' 

"I hope so, too/' and this was followed by a fer- 
vent prayer from Israel's heart as he lifted his eyes 
to heaven: "But when will the good time come? 
When?" 



383 



THOUGHTS 

Years ago I read in Mythology — that mixture of 
truth and fancy, of art and absurdity — that Orpheus 
(Apollo's and Calliope's son) possessed a wonderful 
seven-stringed lyre, and as soon as he began to play 
upon it the birds became mute; the woods were en- 
chanted ; the trees applauded with their green hands ; 
the river ceased driving its waves ; and the most dan- 
gerous beasts grew still and quiet as lambs while 
listening to Orpheus' divine music. 

O God ! I do not ask you for riches, or fortune, 
or pleasure. Give me only Orpheus' lyre! Give it 
to me — and I shall be happy and satisfied. I shall 
wander from town to town, from place to place, and 
by my playing gladden the hearts of the poor and 
needy. I shall play — and the petrified hearts of 
"two-legged animals" v/ill become softer and better, 
and the beasts will cease devouring the best and 
most beautiful, ignoring altogether the meek crowd 
which also wants to enjoy something. 

The ancient Graces, who were more beautiful than 
all other women upon whom the sun shone, selected 
a place near the Muses, not far from Mount Olym- 
pus, in Greece. How times have changed ! The 
modern Graces withdraw from the Muses and Olym- 
pus, from art and poetry. And do you know what 

they change for? For a bag of gold. 

* * * 

Hercules bound the terrible dog "Cerberus'i' and 
subdued him. O, how many Herculeses we need 

3S6 



PARROT GODS 

now to subdue the new-born "Cerberuses" who al- 
most fill the whole globe! 

Prometheus stole fire from heaven and brought it 
to men on earth. The great Jupiter grew angry with 
him and commanded Mercury to catch the thief, bind 
him with iron chains to Mount Caucasus, and bring a 
vulture to eat our Prometheus* heart. 

Years ago, when I read this legend, I bewailed 
Prometheus' fate. I am older now. Time has given 
me many a lesson, and I have no more compassion on 
Prometheus. I rather say, how happy was the un- 
happy martyr! He forgets his great pain, remem- 
bering that he made humanity happy by giving it 
fire, light, sunshine. A man who suffers for an idea, 
a noble deed, which brings a profit to the world, 
certainly looks with immense pride at the gallows, 
and drinks, as an ordinary beverage, the poison 
given him by his murderers. 

* * * 

Many writers think that they have great talents, 
because they have blackened much paper with their 
pens. Fools! The poem, "Magabgaratta," contains 
120,000 couplets, and with all that, we do not even 
know who was its real author. And had we known 
him for sure^ we would never have called him by the 
name of "poet" or "artist." But if Shakespeare had 
written his **Hamlet" only, and nothing else, his name 
would live forever. 

* * * 

The great pessimist, Schopenhauer, refused to 
marry, so that his pessimism should have no pos- 
terity. 

336 



PARROT GODS 

Though the poet sometimes wallows in the swamp 
like ordinary mortals, yet the poet is an eagle. Of a 
sudden he shakes off earthly dirt and flies up to the 
blue sky, where the sun with his glowing rays dries 
up the humidity which he, the poet carries from the 
swamp. The angels cleanse him, and the Almighty 
God kisses him with love and hypnotizes him with 
His kiss, and the poet becomes part of the Divinity. 

* * * 

My enemies did me oftentimes more good than my 
"good friends." With the former I used to be care- 
ful. The latter used to be careful with me, and did 

not show me their "true friendship." 

* ♦ ♦ 

The theater is a mirror, therefore we have to 

guard that "literary'i' flies should not soil it. 

* * * 

Many small men, with Httle souls, throw their 
searchlight on the sins of greater men (poets, artists, 
etc.), thinking thereby to lower the latter's greatness. 
O dwarfs! A nightingale will remain a nightingale, 
even though stains be found on its wings. But a 
rooster can only crow, though its wings be well 

washed and made clean as snow. 

* * * 

A young lady friend of mine tells me, that she 
suffers because one did not understand her. God, 
how much must the poet suffer whom, very often, the 

whole world does not understand! 

* * * 

A young lady told me that she would never love 
again, because she had been once deceived. How 

short is the duration of a young lady's "never!" 

* * * 

337 



PARROT GODS 

The more I see of society, the more I appreciate 

solitude. 

* * * 

Nice phrases without good thoughts are a beauti- 
ful binding without a book to cover. 

* * * 

The clouds rejoice in being able to cover the sun, 
but the sun rejoices in being able to clear away the 

clouds. 

* * * 

Nothing in the world is as good and as bad as love 

* * * 

A poet's heart may become stirred up, but not bad. 
When the ocean begins roaring, it becomes hotter. 

A poet's heart is an ocean. 

* * ♦ 

Many authors bury their hearts in their books, not 

leaving for their own use even the smallest part. 

* * * 

"Poetry is dear to me above everything," a beauti- 
ful young lady said to me ; "I could always be happy 
with a poet!" I went to the young lady, asking for 
her heart and hand. Her first question was: "How 
much money do you earn by your poems?" To my 
reply : "Not very much," she remarked indifferent- 
ly, that she preferred to wait until my poems became 

more valuable. 

* * * 

Many a time the hat is prettier and more valuable 

than the head that wears it. 

* * * 

A heart which can be bought, is worth its weight in 
— meat. 

338 



PARROT GODS 

Lovers take for a witness a mute — the moon. Oh, 
if she could but talk, she would give them very 
many sage discourses about false promises. 

* * * 

I know a **literary" beggar who performs the work 
of an industrious scavenger, by going from house 
to house looking at other's faults. 

O mean creature I how black must be your soul 
that you must wash it with others mud. 

* Hi :¥ 

It is good that the god of love is blind. Could 
he see everything, he would not be capable of bear- 
ing the pain. 

* ♦ ♦ 

It is very bad that love and truth can seldom 

agree. 

* ♦ ♦ 

A true poet is an angel, but even an angel can be 
misled, if he finds himself always in company with 

devils. 

>^ * ♦ 

With my truths I made many enemies, and with 
**good words'* good friends. I confess that I am 
much prouder of the first. 

Poor Apollo ! How bad you must feel listening 
to every poet-taster calling you "brother." 

* * ^ 

We are no angels, and we must have faults. I 
despise those men who have the audacity to say that 
their faults are good qualities. 

5(1 * ♦ 

A literary dwarf, who understands morals as much 

339 



PARROT GODS 

as the Russian government justice, goes from house 
to house slandering me. He is right! I have done 
him much good. He is entitled to slander me. But 
why do other literary dwarfs to whom I did not do 
good slander me? 

* * * 

In my heart there burns a fire of love for the 
whole of humanity; but the tears of humanity quite 
often extinguish the fire, and my heart becomes like 
a derelict wreck. 

* * * 

A poet is a human being and must make mistakes. 
But to a poet much more must be pardoned, be- 
cause he suffers more than others. 

* * * 

Music is an international language, which every 
man can understand, provided his heart is not dead. 

* * * 

Humanity must have a religion as much as the 
lame a cane. 

* * * 

We are more careful with our money and with our 
goods than with our children, whom we entrust to 
every miserable teacher. 

:ti :¥ ^ 

Women could make us men happy, but they do not 
want to. The tiger finds its greatest pleasure in 
holding its victims between its teeth. 

SfC 9|( S|C 

You may laugh at us poets, ye prosaic little men! 
You can laugh, and we shall not be angry. The sun 
does not look with anger, but with contempt on the 

340 



PARROT GODS 

lights which say that they are more useful and 
brighter than he. 

* * * 

What a wonder, what a great wonder! Women 
persuaded the whole world that they are "poetic 
creatures," yet you see how seldom they love poetry 

without money! 

* * ♦ 

Death does not frighten me; I know the real value 
of life. 

:(K 4( :^ 

Time blackens with stains some leaves of the 
noblest man's life. Sun's eclipses are natural things. 

5j= * * 

Men not capable of loving, laugh at love and ap- 
preciate money. For men with weak eyes, a small 

light is more pleasant than the sun. 

» * * 

When my life becomes a burden to me and men un- 
bearable, I go into the woods and pour out my heart 
to the trees and to the birds ; but in winter I do not 
go to the woods : the birds have flown, the trees wear 

cold shrouds, and the woods cast terror over me! 

* * * 

Many men draw phrases from their mouths as a 
juggler draws silk ribbons. The man of under- 
standing, however, sees through the deception. 

* ♦ * 

There are men who believe that reviling is criti- 
cism, just as wild men think the croaking of frogs 

is music. 

* * * 

I know that I shall not live long. The fire burn- 

341 



PARROT GODS 

ing in my heart gives, perhaps, light for other people, 
but myself it consumes, it eats me up with its fiery 
tongue. 

* * »!: 

When older people want to demonstrate that they 
know better than the younger ones, their first argu- 
ment is: "We are older than you! We have lived 
longer!" You have lived longer than we younger 
ones ? Good ! But your years can only confirm that 
you wore out more hats on your heads than we, and 
does not prove that you are always brighter. 

4t ♦ ♦ 

Dearer to me are truthful blemishes than false 
virtues. 

« >|( 4: 

Sometimes love rests in a woman's heart as long 
as water in a sieve. 

* * * 

When life becomes a burden to me, the sun ceasing 
to warm me with his golden rays, the sky looking 
at me with gloomy frown, and all men being in my 
eyes like hungry beasts — then the thought of death 
comforts my soul. It appears to me as a friendly 
shore after a dangerous voyage on a stormy sea. 

* * * 

Earlier or later, all must die; but unhappy is the 
man who must die before having conceived life. 

* 4c 4^ 

Some books are their authors' worst enemies, lay- 
ing bare before all the latter's foolishness. 

* * * 

A true poet is the crown on humanity's head, but 

342 



PARROT GODS 

often times humanity's head is so small that the 

crown cannot stay on. 

* « ♦ 

Once, riding on a dark night through a forest I 
rejoiced to see a light in the distance. How great 
was my disappointment on arriving there to find 
neither fire nor light, but — rotten wood. In my life 
such false lights have deceived me several times al- 
ready. I thought I found men who would brighten 
my dark life and bring light to my gloomy heart, and 
what did I find ? Men no more shining than the rot- 
ten wood I saw in the forest. 

♦ « ifc 

Many people think they are great because fate has 
dragged them high up the ladder of fortune. Fools I 
The chimney-sweepers are only chimney-sweepers, 
though they oft stand higher than the rest of them — 
on the very roof. 

♦ * 4i 

Before the arrival of the Messiah, arrogance will 
increase, say our sages. What a wonder, what a 
great wonder that Messiah has not yet come! It 
seems to me, that there is enough arrogance among 
"literary men" in America for ten Messiahs. 

* * * 

"Jews Christianizing — Christians Judaizing — puzzle 
me. I like fish or flesh," says Charles Lamb, in his 
"Imperfect Sympathies." Reform Rabbis, please 

bear in mind these words! 

* « * 

"Calumniare audacter semper aliquid haeret," says 
the Latin proverb. This is a very good thing for 
slanderers. 

343 



A^B 



\ % 



1922 



